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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340772">i wanna be an amen to you (when you're falling apart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler'>blake0tyler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>there will be dark days (swear that they'll be short) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wilds (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, F/F, I could write a dissertation on these two that’s how obsessed I am, Internalized Homophobia, a lot of biblical imagery, companion piece but can be read separately, oof my baby is really going through it here, starts out rough and angsty but will get increasingly more smutty and romantic lol, their love language is being completely zoned in on each other at literally all times</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Toni looks at you, it’s like vertigo. Like you weren’t supposed to look over the edge of the cliff and you’re going to fall right into something awful and dangerous and wrong. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Shelby &amp; Toni [ 1x01 – 1x09 and a little bit beyond ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>there will be dark days (swear that they'll be short) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>710</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N:</p>
<p>Another character study. This one is a little heavier than Toni's but I'm planning on making it canon-divergent post 1x09 so that I can also explore the softness and lightness and, let's be honest, sexual tension of their relationship. </p>
<p>Title is from Troye Sivan's "10/10" which just fits their dynamic fucking well in my opinion. </p>
<p>Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! Hope you enjoy this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What if she was hungry?” you ask.</p>
<p>This is how it begins. This is how everything begins. The first story of the world; at least the one that people tell you is the first. Genesis 2:4. <em>This is the account of the heavens and the earth when they were created</em>. The world, so beautiful and young and only earth. Its blue streams watering the holy surface and Eden planted in the east.  </p>
<p>You’re seven when you ask your daddy.</p>
<p>
  <em>What if she was hungry?</em>
</p>
<p>He looks at you, the slightest crease between his eyebrows.</p>
<p>You’re seven and small. Freckled from the Texas summer, gap-toothed and happy. In school, you are learning how to write long sentences. You are learning how to add and subtract, even with high numbers. You have music lessons on Wednesday afternoons, just after church. People say you’re going to grow up <em>beautiful</em>, and right now, you’re sitting on your knees on a chair at the kitchen table with your daddy’s leather-bound Bible open in front of you.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, baby?” he says.</p>
<p>“Eve,” you say, pointing your index finger at the page. “When she ate from the tree.”</p>
<p>The script is small but you know the words. You know because your daddy just spoke them out loud and he said they were important—and you want to be good and pay attention.</p>
<p>Eden in the east and God had said she must not eat from the tree in the middle of the garden. But the serpent also speaks.</p>
<p>You’re too young to fully comprehend it now, but you will remember the verse later. You will think about it during a day that’s so far in the future you can’t even imagine it. You will think about it when you’re sitting on a rock with a bottle of vodka in your hand. A nightmare island to awaken your nightmare desires, your lips just-kissed and burning, while you’re trying to hold off a panic attack.</p>
<p>Genesis 3:5. <em>For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil. </em></p>
<p>You’re too young, but you know what it’s like to want things. Wanting to see, wanting to know.</p>
<p>You know what it’s like to be hungry.</p>
<p>“Maybe she didn’t mean to make Him angry,” you say. “Maybe she just wanted something to eat.”</p>
<p>Your daddy stares at you. His blue eyes seem a little darker in the low light of the kitchen. He takes a breath, then says, “She wasn’t allowed, Shelb. That’s the bottom line.” He looks you right in the eyes. “God had told her no and it doesn’t matter if she was hungry, baby, because she wasn’t allowed to eat the fruit from the tree. Do you understand what I’m saying?”</p>
<p>This, you think, is how it begins. The first story in the world.</p>
<p>Girls are not allowed to be hungry. Girls are not allowed to see or know. Girls are not allowed to be like God, because if they were, then who would hold the power over them?</p>
<p>When you kiss Becca, you feel like the serpent; all your venom seeping right into her veins, tricking her, seducing her, poisoning her until you’ve left her for dead. When you kiss Toni, you feel like Eve; flesh and bone, naked and trembling, completely starved<em>. </em>All this wild hunger in your chest. All this anger and fear and performance between you.</p>
<p>Eden planted in the east. Eden, here on your deserted island a million miles away from expectations. Eden, so fucking far from everything you’ve ever known.</p>
<p>Toni’s mouth is soft and warm and <em>shocked</em>—and you think you’re falling, think you’re slipping, think you’re going to get yourself kicked right out of paradise.</p>
<p>“What if she was hungry?” you ask your daddy.</p>
<p>And your daddy says, “Those who hunger for the devil’s fruit end up in hell.”</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>You meet on a plane. It’s the briefest of moments; you don’t even know her name yet, but you’re trying to break the ice, so to say, and this is what you remember. A few seconds of your hand on her wrist, on the bare skin of her shoulders. <em>You can come with me. </em>It’s nothing.</p>
<p>You meet on a plane, sure, but you <em>meet </em>Toni Shalifoe on the ground.</p>
<p>She is all fire and temper and spit. You watch her sprint towards you faster than you’ve ever seen anyone run—and the relief on her face when she reaches you and Martha has your heartbeat quickening for some reason.</p>
<p>“What the <em>fuck </em>are you wearing?”</p>
<p>She bites the words out. There is only one person in this whole world that she cares about and that’s Martha — she makes that crystal clear to you from the first moment.</p>
<p>You don’t know yet, that this is how your world starts turning on its axes.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>There’s a defensive sort of energy to her, that first day. Something snappy and unnecessary, almost like she’s <em>forcing </em>it between you on purpose. Like she’s making sure you stay away. Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t touch me or I’ll snap.</p>
<p>She fires off one assumption after the other. <em>Bet you’re this. Bet you’re that. </em>Like she’s categorizing you. Throwing accusations and insults out into the space between you to test how you’ll react.</p>
<p>It’s unnerving.</p>
<p>You are trying to ground yourself into the disaster that you’ve landed in, trying to focus on the situation, trying to pray for something good—water or rescue or food. But it’s difficult with the way she’s so in your face about every little thing.</p>
<p>“I’m so sick of looking at your fucking ponytail. I feel like it thinks it’s better than me.”</p>
<p>You exhale hard, getting just the slightest bit frustrated. “Then how about you go in front?”</p>
<p>“Fine.” She pushes past you, all hot energy and glaring looks.</p>
<p>You take a breath, bow your head to your hands for a moment. “Lord, in Your mercy, grant us water so that we may drink. Lord, in Your mercy—”</p>
<p>“Weren’t you <em>just </em>telling me to shut up and listen?”</p>
<p>She spins around, coming to a halt in front of you.</p>
<p>“It’s different,” you say, trying to keep the bite from your voice. You don’t know why, but something about her makes your muscles jumpy, makes you feel sharp and on edge. “When you pray, God opens your senses.”</p>
<p>“God’s such a joke.” Toni scoffs. “Don’t you know he’s just a brainwashing tool designed to enslave the masses?”</p>
<p>You meet her eyes. She might think she’s being smart but she’s not the first to say something like this to get under your skin.</p>
<p>“Even if He were just a brainwashing tool,” you say, keeping it light enough to know you’re pissing her off. “Don’t you ever think your brain could use a good scrub?”</p>
<p>She scowls at you and it courses something through your veins, hot and simmering. Something a little bit like power, like control. Act and react. Energy shifting between you from one moment to the next. She might make you feel more exposed than you were ready for — pulling at something low and dormant in your body; something you had thought you put to sleep — but you’re not scared.  </p>
<p>“Fuck off,” she snaps, and turns around again. </p>
<p>When she smacks you in the face with the branch three seconds later, it knocks all of the adrenaline out of your body instantly. Just like that, you’re on the ground and shaking, and for a second, it’s like you’ve only just crashed.</p>
<p>Like the plane wasn’t real, but this—</p>
<p>This—</p>
<p>Panic and fear rising fast. The sudden reminder that you’re all alone. That no one knows you here and God is out of reach and this is <em>punishment. </em>For who you are. For Becca. For all the dark and dangerous poison that’s inside of you, the sinful thoughts you can’t seem to ban from your fucking mind. You are alone and you deserve to be alone and—</p>
<p>“Shit, I swear I didn’t mean to.”</p>
<p>She’s right next to you, voice shaking.</p>
<p>“It’s all right,” you hear yourself say. </p>
<p>Toni reaches out for a second, almost like she doesn’t dare to. “Hey...”</p>
<p>“Go ahead and go on back,” you say, fighting to even out your voice. “I will too but you should get a head start. I’d really rather walk alone.”</p>
<p>She does what you say. She turns around and leaves, looking small and withdrawn, all of her defenses shattered suddenly.</p>
<p>You think of the Apostle Paul. You think of the first epistle to the Corinthians 16:13. <em>Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong</em>. You think of your farther, touch the wet blood on your temple, and climb back up the hill.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Things you notice about her that first day; how her top lip pulls up every time she snarls at you, how her shoulders tense whenever Martha makes a pained sound, how her eyes glow in the light of the fire—and the way your stomach flips when she looks right at you and says, “Only if you go first.”</p>
<p>You force yourself to ignore it. You’re the one who suggested Never Have I Ever, so you’ll play.</p>
<p>“Fine,” you say. “Never have I ever had vaginal penetrative intercourse.”</p>
<p>She eyes you. “So that’s why your boyfriend is a cheat?”</p>
<p>It’s a low blow. Again, almost like she’s testing you. All sharp edges and knives out; waiting to see whether you’re willing to cut yourself and bleed.</p>
<p>“He’s not a cheat.”</p>
<p>Andrew is—</p>
<p>God.</p>
<p>Andrew is ten worlds away and you’re watching a girl you don’t even like put her lips to a tiny bottle like it’s a dare aimed directly at you. Inexplicably, it makes you feel hot and uncomfortable all over.</p>
<p>You turn to Martha, smile at her when she says she’s glad she’s not the only one.</p>
<p>“It takes guts to save yourself, you know that?” you say, putting a hand on her arm, ignoring Toni’s stare.</p>
<p><em>She won’t get to you</em>, you tell yourself. She can try all she wants but she won’t.    </p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Problem is, she’s apparently willing to put up a fucking fight against that resolve.</p>
<p>If you weren’t getting so frustrated, you might have been impressed.</p>
<p>She’s truly giving it her all; snapping at you, glaring at you, looking like she’s two seconds away from ripping your hand off every time you even dare to reach it out to Martha.</p>
<p>It doesn’t help that she keeps looking at you in this way that is making it hard to think; like just the fact that you’re <em>here</em> is driving her out of her mind — and, okay, you get it. You know everyone has their own stress responses. But this feels personal.</p>
<p>It’s a welcome break, in a way, to go looking for shelter with Dot.</p>
<p>You think you’re doing well, all things considered. You’re trying to stay positive and optimistic, and you’re the one who found that bag with all the meds. And yet—</p>
<p>Every time Toni looks at you, it’s like vertigo. Like you weren’t supposed to look over the edge of the cliff and you’re going to fall right into something awful and dangerous and <em>wrong</em>.</p>
<p>There’s a hint of something familiar about it in the center of your chest. Something you’ve buried carefully and structurally under years and years of competitions and prayer and beauty. Something you have gotten damn good at shutting out. You have killed it before and you will kill it again if you have to.</p>
<p>You refuse to pay attention to her. You will focus on the other girls. You will accompany Dot on her mission to find shelter and <em>forget about—</em></p>
<p>“That’s not fucking funny!”</p>
<p>You try to play it down. “We gotta have a laugh here and there...”</p>
<p>Dot’s voice cracks. “Do you see me laughing?”</p>
<p>All of a sudden you realize what you did. You realize how it must have sounded to Dot, how it must have felt—</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, you <em>cunt</em>,” she cuts out.</p>
<p>And it all goes to hell from there.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>It’s a second.</p>
<p>When people see you like this, for the first time, it’s only a <em>second. </em>So quick that they don’t even realize it happens. That their eyes give the whole thing away. Most of the time, people think they are good enough at schooling their face into something different before they hurt you with the truth—but they’re not.</p>
<p>Your teeth fall out and reality takes shape right in front of them, and sure, they will tell you not to worry, they will tell you this does not matter, they will tell you <em>God made you this way and God only does beautiful. </em></p>
<p>But before that there’s the second.</p>
<p>When the perfection cracks and the shock rises and you are <em>ugly</em>.</p>
<p>There’s no hiding from that look.</p>
<p>You’ve seen it too often not to know the truth of what people think — that no matter how much you try to stay smooth and nice and <em>good</em>, there’s poison, there’s ugliness, there’s fangs.</p>
<p>Maybe that’s why God sends the snake.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Or—</p>
<p>Maybe— </p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Andrew creeps up on you.</p>
<p>That’s a lie.</p>
<p>Andrew creeps up on you and by extension <em>Toni</em> creeps up on you. The way she’d said <em>so that’s why your boyfriend is a cheat</em>, and yes, you’re sitting on the forest floor trying to catch your breath. Yes, you’re trying to blink the look on Dot’s face from your mind. Yes, you’re trying to calm down and wondering what you should do if she decides to tell the other girls about your teeth.</p>
<p>But under all of that—</p>
<p>You can’t stop thinking about the fire. How Toni had put the tiny bottle to her lips. How you were talking about sex and she’d taken the sip, and looked right at you. Can’t stop thinking about how captivating her eyes are, how her skin looks so smooth.</p>
<p>Can’t stop thinking—</p>
<p>Who she’s had sex with, how often—</p>
<p>Can’t stop—</p>
<p>Head tipped back, lips parted, what she’d look like, what she’d—</p>
<p>You deserve to be punished. It’s the edge of the cliff and you’re slipping and falling. And <em>that </em>is why He sends the snake.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Dottie kills it. You feel small and upset and a little bit broken. It takes a while for you to get back to yourself and for Dot to do the same. But when you sit together, bloodied and shaken, it breaks something open in the center of your chest.</p>
<p>“You should probably lighten up about it,” she says.</p>
<p>It’s impossible to explain why you can’t. Where do you begin? With your teeth? With Becca? With the garden and the tree and being hungry, where do you even—</p>
<p>“It feels like this super thin wall,” you start, giving it a shot anyway. “Holding back all of this... I don’t know, <em>ugliness</em>.”</p>
<p>You don’t tell Dot the rest. You don’t tell her that it feels like the wall is right on the edge of tipping the fuck over.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Turns out, you’re not the one who loses it, though.</p>
<p>Not yet.</p>
<p>Toni is first.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>In hindsight, the suggestion to play for the Takis might not have been your best call.</p>
<p>“What do you know about building shit, anyway?”</p>
<p>“Hate to burst your bubble,” you fire back at her. “But I have worked on eleven different Habitat for Humanity projects.”</p>
<p>She disregards it, like she does anything that contradicts her idea of you. “Okay, Marty let’s hit the woods.” Martha just glances down. “What the hell is wrong? Let’s go!”</p>
<p>All of Toni’s anger rises, but so does yours. “What’s wrong is that she doesn’t want to go running off without the slightest idea of what the endgame is!”</p>
<p>“You gonna let her speak for you now?” Her shoulders are tensed, her voice hoarse.  </p>
<p>“Toni—” Martha says. “That’s not—”</p>
<p>“Okay, whatever,” she snaps. “Make all the plans that you want. I’m gonna go and do the work. Guess I’m doing this alone!”</p>
<p>She storms off before anyone can say anything else.</p>
<p>It makes your own frustration flare like a torch. Gone is your slip-of-control moment from the woods. Gone is that ridiculous glitch in reality when your thoughts kept running wild on how soft her skin looks, even covered in sand and sweat. How much heat keeps radiating off her body any time you end up close together. Before the snake. Before your edge of the cliff realization that maybe what you feel when you look at her is—</p>
<p>It’s <em>not.</em></p>
<p>It’s not fucking attraction.</p>
<p>If anything, it’s pure distaste at how easily she gets riled up over absolutely <em>nothing. </em></p>
<p>“—did you see how pissy Toni got just because Martha picked someone who’s actually helpful?” You slam the rock hard onto the bamboo. “I don’t know what her problem with me is.”</p>
<p>Nora shifts uncomfortably. “You, uh, you seem pretty angry...”</p>
<p>“Oh, no.” You exhale hard. “I don’t do anger. The Lord expects us to be instruments of love.”</p>
<p>You slam the rock down hard and you can feel Nora staring at you, can feel that you’re contradicting yourself.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get it together.</em>
</p>
<p>“If I ever feel the aggro coming on, well, my mom found me the perfect outlet.” You slam the rock down, again. “The theater.”</p>
<p>But when Nora schools you on <em>Death of a Salesman, </em>things go downhill. It makes you feel off-balance—the thought of your father being the absolute last thing you need in this situation. It doesn’t help that Toni chooses that moment to return and finds the plan has changed.</p>
<p>You can see her try not to react. Can see the effort it takes her to breathe in and look at Nora’s sketch, and then she cuts out, “Whose idea was this? Was it yours?”</p>
<p>It’s unexpected; the slight spark of satisfaction that runs through your body when she makes eye-contact with you.</p>
<p><em>Yes,</em> you think. <em>Get mad at me. </em></p>
<p>It’s irrational and destructive, but it scratches at the need in your chest to give the shaky shame inside your body a better place. To shake off the look of disgust in your father’s eyes that you can’t seem to forget. You want to feel ruined over something external rather than internal.</p>
<p><em>Get as angry as you fucking want, </em>you want to tell her.<em> I don’t care. </em></p>
<p>She breaks away from the group, again, and you feel hot all over—just for a second—at maybe having caused it. Act and react. Just for a second, it feels really good. Maybe that is why you go looking for her.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>“Hot as Hades today.”</p>
<p>She watches you, from where she’s sitting on the rock. You can feel her eyes on you like they’re burning into your skin.</p>
<p>“Every religion has their version of hell,” you continue, making you way over. “The Greeks had Hades. Islam has Jahannam. Southern Baptists have the fire and brimstone kind.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is hell.” She glares at you. “Having to listen to you lecture.”</p>
<p>Again, there’s a tiny spark of pleasure at how she bites so quickly.</p>
<p>“Maybe it is,” you say. “Hell is where the Lord sends us to try and teach us something.” Your voice is steadier than it’s been in days. “I know he’s trying to teach me patience.”</p>
<p>Toni smiles, cold and dismissive, and maybe you’re not the only one who’s feeling self-congratulatory about the way you get under each other’s skin like this.</p>
<p>“I do bug you,” she says. “I knew it.”  </p>
<p>“I just don’t understand why you run so hot all the time.”</p>
<p>You say it before you can really think it through. It must be the heat. It must be the sun and the dehydration and the fact that you’re going half out of your mind with how much you just need this from her—something that runs deeper than all of the attitude and fight and masked indifference.</p>
<p>In response, she eyes you, hard and cold. But the thing you want is right under the surface. Right there, flickering, only just outside your reach. So you push on. “Martha said it’s not just about me. That you’ve always been this way.”</p>
<p>She swallows. You watch the line of her throat as she breaks eye-contact for a moment, before looking back at you again.</p>
<p>“That first day,” she says, “Why haven’t you told anyone about how I smacked you with the branch?”</p>
<p>It’s almost a game—this back and forth, this question for a question. How she refuses to give in, pushing you back instead. Demanding the same thing; to hear something real from you, to see which one of you will break first.</p>
<p>“Because it was an accident.”</p>
<p>You’re not about to give her the satisfaction.</p>
<p>“We both know that it wasn’t, so what are you waiting for?”</p>
<p>You’re not. Not like this.</p>
<p>“I’m waiting to get off this island,” you manage to get out. “So that I never have to think about you ever again.”</p>
<p>Feels like she’s got her hands wrapped right around your neck. So much distance between the two of you and yet it’s like she’s got her fingers right on your throat, taking your breath, cutting off your oxygen.  </p>
<p>“I bet you think about all the different ways you could get back at me,” Toni says. “If you had the guts.”</p>
<p>Your pulse is like static in your ears. She gets to her feet and for one moment you think she’s about to walk away, but then she’s getting right up in your face. Up close, her eyes are like fire, voice low and only for you.</p>
<p>“You got a lot of people here thinking you’re all rainbows and unicorn shit,” she says. “But I see you.”</p>
<p>The words are like a knife to the sternum, and, for one ice cold second, you think she’s right; that she knows your thoughts and your poison and what you feel when you look at her.</p>
<p>She keeps her eyes locked on yours, steady and harsh. But then, out of nowhere, for a sliver of a moment, she falters.</p>
<p>For one delirious moment, the air trembles between you, and her mouth twitches, and it’s almost like all of the effort to be rough with you like this, is costing her as much as it’s costing you.</p>
<p>It’s like a shot of adrenaline.</p>
<p>All your fear instantly fuses with desire. Your gaze flits over her face, down to her mouth, and the wild, irrational thought crosses your mind that if you’d step closer, you could—</p>
<p>She backs away, turns around—</p>
<p>You kick her.</p>
<p>She spins back instantly. “That all you got?”  </p>
<p>You <em>revel </em>in it. The challenge, the dare. This outrageous exchange of control. This reckless need for her to fight with you like this. To have her hot and bothered and close. Fixated on you and nothing but you.</p>
<p>You want her to feel what you are feeling. Like you’re going to snap if this thing between you doesn’t explode one way or another. Like she could put her mouth on you and kiss you or bite you, whatever she wants.  </p>
<p>You get right up in her face. “I’ve got the strength for lots more but I’m not gonna waste it on you. You’re not worth it.”</p>
<p>This, you think, is how you win. This is how you’re going to survive. This is how you kill this hungry thing inside of you until it doesn’t exist anymore.</p>
<p>But then Toni says this:</p>
<p>“You know who clings to religion? People who like to tell themselves a nice story about who they are ‘cause deep down they’re hiding some pretty fucked-up shit.”</p>
<p>Hand on your throat, all the air lost from your body.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Later, when her anger explodes and you watch her wreck your shelter into fucking pieces and Martha just can’t take it anymore, there’s a moment where she looks right at you and you wonder if she needed you to say it back.</p>
<p>She trembles and burns, but when your eyes meet hers, she breaks.</p>
<p>Maybe this is all she wants. To be looked at. To be seen. For someone, anyone, to say it back without having to make a scene for it. Without having to ask.</p>
<p>It had sounded like a threat. But as she runs after Martha, you wish you’d told her the truth.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>
  <em>I see you, too. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve been looking at you all this time.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You don’t sleep easy that night.</p><p>The new shelter pushes all of you closer together, but you’re sharply aware of the fact that you’re incomplete. Fatin, who has stormed out after her fight with Leah, has yet to return to camp, and no one has even mentioned Toni’s name in hours.</p><p>You stare up at the sky through the cracks between the branches of the shelter and think of the fallen angels from the Book of Revelation. <em>Then war broke out in heaven. </em>It’s said to be the origin story of the devil. A devil who has many names, appears in many forms, in many places.</p><p>Serpent. Satan. Snake on a deserted island.</p><p>You wonder where Toni ran off to. You wonder how she’s keeping warm. If she’s still as angry as she was before. If she’s wide-awake and staring up at the wide open sky.</p><p>Another name for him is Lucifer. Angel turned devil who gets cast out of heaven for attempting to defy God. Who is said to have caused the beginning of sin. Ezekiel 28:17.<em> Your heart became proud on account of your beauty, and you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor. </em>He thinks himself to be like God, like Eve did before him.</p><p>Before.</p><p>Or after.</p><p>You stare up at the stars.</p><p>Didn’t Eve cause the beginning of sin? Sometimes your mind can run itself ragged on cause and effect, on the different ways they’re intertwined, on what you know from scripture and what you know from experience — and right now, you’re thinking <em>what is an origin story without a clear origin? </em></p><p>Around and around, thoughts like smoke. What is a serpent if not a devil? What is a devil if not an angel cast from the sky? What is a girl who thinks about another girl in the middle of the night if not a fucking sinner?  </p><p>The most haunting part, you think, is that Lucifer was good and smart and beautiful.</p><p>The most haunting part, is that it proves that anyone can fall.   </p><p>:::</p><p>“How—” The next morning, your voice sounds a little rough. “How concerned are we that neither of them are back yet? Because personally, I’m at, like, a solid seven.” </p><p>It’s a lie.</p><p>You’re at an eight and a half, at least.</p><p>You can’t seem to shake off the tension from yesterday. All the adrenaline from the stupid shelter building contest, the way things had exploded. You and Toni and Martha—the different lines between the three of you. How something really snapped last night. You can’t believe it’s only been seven days. It feels like a longer.</p><p>You glance over at Martha.</p><p>She just shakes her head dismissively. “If you’re wondering if I’m worried about Toni, just don’t. Okay? She’s not my business anymore.”</p><p>It feels harsh, especially coming from Martha.</p><p>“O-kay,” you say. “There’s also Fatin?”</p><p>Leah snaps instantly. Rattles off something about <em>water supply </em>and <em>thoughts and prayers</em>, and you’re all, really, very much out of it today. Which, is why, when Nora says, “I’d like everyone to know that what I’m about to do is a loving homage,” it works. Clearly, you’re in need of a little bit of lightness.</p><p>It gets crushed out almost instantly, though, when Dot says she’s lost the lighter.</p><p>Soon enough, the whole thing spirals out of control. Rachel tries to throw Leah’s novel into the fire and Leah lurches at her, pins her onto her back, onto the ground and—</p><p>“<em>Hey!</em>”</p><p>The relief is bigger than you want to admit. Your heart leaps up in your throat at the sight of Toni sprinting towards you, and for a second you’re thinking, <em>she made it through, she’s okay, she’s here and she’s okay</em>—but then you notice she’s got something clutched in her hand.</p><p>She drops down in the space between you and Nora, your fingers grazing her arm for the lightest of moments, before she shoves a bloody piece of fabric forward and pants out, “This is Fatin’s, right?”</p><p>:::</p><p>“You think something attacked her?”</p><p>“Don’t, Shelb,” Martha cuts in. “Don’t let her work you up.” She turns directly to Toni. “This is probably just a distraction to make us forget all the shit that <em>you </em>pulled on us.”</p><p>“Yeah, nah,” Toni says, “This isn’t about me.”</p><p>You try to blink the phrase <em>work you up </em>away, try to clear your head enough to consider what could be going on. It’s so hot today that you feel like you can’t properly think. The fact that you haven't really had anything to drink in, like, a week, doesn’t help.</p><p>Hiking through the forest to find Fatin is exhausting.</p><p>Leah is getting more and more tense by the minute.  “S-she’s fine, I mean, she has to be, she’s...” She turns to you, her voice panicked. “She’s fine, right?”</p><p>You nod reassuringly, though you’re not sure. “We still have a lot of ground to cover.” You take hold of Leah’s wrist for a second. “Something will turn up. In the meantime, if you want a little diversion, we could play a couple of rounds of Would You Rather?”</p><p>It’s as much a strategy to keep yourself distracted as it is to keep Leah sane, but everyone groans in protest.</p><p>“Come on,” you press. “We could all stand to get out of our heads. Take the edge off.”</p><p>They’re all quiet, until—</p><p>“I’ve got one.”</p><p>You turn to look at Toni and she grins. “For the record, I didn’t come up with this. I heard it from a girl on my team. Would you rather... eat nothing but plain yoghurt for the rest of your life—like, not vanilla yoghurt, like, I’m talking plain.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Or suck off your dad?”</p><p>
  <em>Christ.</em>
</p><p>It makes you laugh, despite yourself, and there’s a chorus of “Fucking yoghurt!” and “Oh my God!” and Rachel saying, “<em>Yoghurt, bro!</em>”</p><p>For a moment, it breaks the tension, and you would feel embarrassed for laughing, really, but you’re still a little on edge about the whole fight from yesterday, and so the fact that Toni’s joking around, even if it’s crass, is more of a reassurance than you’d like to admit.</p><p>But Leah’s not having it. “Guys, please focus. Fatin’s been gone way too long for us to be dicking around.”</p><p>Her shoulders are tense and her voice is pitchy, and when she screams <em>I’m not fucking crazy </em>at Rachel a moment later, it’s harsh and out of control. Still, it snaps you all back into reality.</p><p>She’s right. One of you is missing and this is where the space opens up for things to go horribly wrong.</p><p>:::</p><p>When you drag Rachel from the mud—</p><p>When you finally find Fatin—</p><p>When you finally, <em>finally, </em>find fresh water, it feels like a miracle. Like a chance. To re-set, to hydrate, to scrub yourself <em>clean. </em></p><p>You let it take the mud from your clothes, let it wash the salt from your hair. You swim right to the waterfall and let it pour down onto your shoulders, onto your face, cold and delicious and clear. Martha is giddy with excitement as you swim around each other. You get the vague feeling that Toni’s watching you from a little further away, but if she is, she doesn’t seem eager to let it be known.</p><p>It seems like you’re a bit more careful with each other today, a little less talons and bite. The sun is burning, breaking on the water surface in a million glinting sparkles. Faintly, the thought registers at the back of your mind that Toni’s amber eyes look golden in this light.</p><p>Martha splashes water in your face and you laugh the flutter in your stomach away.  </p><p>:::</p><p>Leah was right.</p><p>It doesn’t seem all that obvious at first.</p><p>You’re all sitting by the fire, boiling the water and cooling it. And yes, Dot is right to point out that you might be at risk of being mauled by whatever wildlife is roaming in the woods. She’s right to be worried.</p><p>But still, as you’re sitting by the fire, it feels like something between the eight of you has shifted. Like you’ve all got each other’s backs a little bit more than before—that’s what it feels like. </p><p>Fatin makes her way over to Leah and though you’re trying not to eavesdrop, you catch snippets of the conversation. <em>I shouldn’t have... I was out of line... I was such a cunt to you yesterday... </em>You watch Fatin pull Leah to her feet and something in your heart feels a little softer, a little warmer.</p><p>Leah hands <em>The Nature of Her </em>to Rachel. You stare ahead, watch the slow way the paper catches and then the flames that begin to flare up.</p><p>That’s when your eyes meet Toni’s.</p><p>She’s on the opposite side of the fire and you haven’t really looked at her all day, haven’t said more than a few words to her, in passing, since she’s been back. Now your eyes meet, accidentally, fleetingly. She glances down so quickly that it’s almost like it didn’t happen, but then, she lifts her gaze again and looks at you with purpose.</p><p>There’s less of a challenge to it.</p><p>She just looks at you, a heartbeat too long for it not to count.</p><p>You make the mistake of forgetting what Leah said in the forest—about horror movies and getting lost in the woods; how, as soon as you get comfortable, things start taking a turn for the worse. You make the mistake of thinking that losing Fatin was the worst of it, that dragging Rachel from the mud was the worst of it. You make the mistake of not realizing that more often than not, Leah is right.  </p><p>:::</p><p>The sun is blazing hot when Rachel finds the clams.</p><p>She places them in the center of the circle like a trophy and the feast begins. You opt out in favor of eating some of the berries Martha foraged the day before. They don’t do much to quell the taut feeling of hunger in your stomach but watching everyone grin and eat and lick their fingers clean makes you feel happy nonetheless.</p><p>“You’re not eating any mussels, Shelby?” Martha pipes up.</p><p>You hum. “No, no. I’m good.”</p><p>Leah cuts in. “Why not?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m beyond allergic to shellfish.” You rub some sand off your hands, grinning. “I had a single popcorn shrimp at my cousin’s birthday party. My windpipe shut like a <em>trap</em>.”</p><p>Fatin is already shaking her head next to you. “Well, you’re missing out. I mean, ideally these would be eaten with garlic butter and crispy fries on a terrace in Barcelona but... <em>salud.</em>”</p><p>She raises her clam like a toast.</p><p>Toni half scoffs, half laughs. “Fucking one-percenters.”</p><p>A laugh rises from the group as Rachel knocks the clam in her hand against Fatin’s in a little <em>cheers </em>moment. Then, she says, “Damn, Toni... you’re plowing right through ‘em.”</p><p>Something in the tone of Rachel’s voice makes the comment feel off, though you’re  not sure why. There’s a tiny spark of tension in your stomach as you gaze shifts over to Toni. She looks sharp against the backdrop of the light; bright red tank top, bronze skin.</p><p>Toni grins. “Just trying to stay on brand, you know?”</p><p>She pauses, just long enough that your breath catches uncomfortably in your throat, and you’re still unclear why it feels like that, until—</p><p>Toni licks up the inside of the clam with a long, broad stroke of her tongue, and your stomach clenches.</p><p>Awful, <em>shameful</em> recognition rushes through you.</p><p>Laugher erupts and Toni says, “I mean, you gotta admit alright, the shape of these things...”</p><p>“Shape and texture—”</p><p>“Yeah, right?”</p><p>She bites down on her bottom lip and you feel nauseous with sudden tension, with dread. Your stomach clenches again, and you don’t want any part of this, don’t want to hear any how she—</p><p>“I mean, you know, it’s kinda like a...”   </p><p>Don’t want—</p><p>“Like a pussy!” Nora yells<em>.</em></p><p>Panic runs you cold like an ice bath. You snap your eyes away, bring your shaky fingers up to the back of your neck, blood rushing in your ears, zoning out everything but Toni’s voice as she riffs off the laughs and says, “If you wanna know how to eat this soft, beautiful treasure, I can show you, and it does not take garlic butter. All it takes is <em>finesse</em>...”</p><p>Your gaze lifts, despite yourself, despite your <em>fucking </em>nausea, and just like that, your body goes breathless as you watch her put her mouth to the—</p><p>Watch her flick her tongue against the—</p><p>Watch—</p><p>Everything inside you pulled tight—</p><p>“Oh, yes! Lick the clit!”</p><p>“Damn, go off, girl!”</p><p>“This is the most action any of us has gotten—”</p><p>It snaps.</p><p>“<em>Would you stop?</em>”</p><p>Everyone falls silent at once.</p><p>There’s a place inside of you. Built from precision and self-restraint and focus, and you thought it got wrecked when the plane crashed to the ground, thought maybe you had left it in ruins in your father’s home in Texas—but now you drop right into the abyss of it.</p><p><em>What did I tell you, </em>it says. <em>You traitorous child. You fucking sinner. </em></p><p>There’s a place inside of you, dark and empty like a church—and now you let it rise up around you. Let it take you, let it close you in.  </p><p>
  <em>You will rather starve. You will rather die. </em>
</p><p>Toni stares at you, wiping at her mouth. You force yourself not to cower under her gaze.</p><p>“Okay...” Dot bursts out in strained laughter. “That was hilarious and Shelby has no chill.”</p><p>“Excuse me, I have chill,” you snap, instinct kicking in. “I guess I just... I don’t see the humor in that sort of thing.”</p><p>Your mouth quivers for a second, but you brace yourself enough to get it to stop. You are your father’s daughter. You know what you believe. Your Lord is watching and you will speak.</p><p>Toni’s eyes are dark. “What do you mean <em>that sort of thing</em>?”  </p><p>There’s a tension to her voice as well, different from how it was when you fought on the beach the other day. More dangerous. More <em>actually</em> angry, <em>actually </em>upset.</p><p>“You know.” You exhale hard. “Pornographic gestures.” It’s like your voice isn’t even yours. “I’m a Christian, all right? From a very Christian home. I’m allowed to be a little skeeved out.”</p><p>She’s just looking at you, just looking and looking, and you wish she wouldn’t, wish you could block out everything, wish you could ignore whatever Fatin’s response is, wish you could—</p><p>“I mean, that’s not all that’s going on here,” Toni cuts in, and then she’s off. “Don’t bullshit me, Shelby, ‘cause the vibe that’s coming off of you right now, I’ve felt it a few too many times not to know what it is.”</p><p>“What are you saying, Toni?”</p><p>
  <em>You traitorous child. You fucking sinner. </em>
</p><p>“I’m saying that she can’t stand that I’m gay, Marty—”</p><p>Your throat closes off, gets stuck on the word. Like a knife to the throat, like water in your lungs, like a pillow to the face, choking you.</p><p>“—that’s what fucking skeeves her out!”</p><p>“That’s not true.”</p><p>Everything spins and spins; the look on Toni’s face, the question in Martha’s voice, and in the center of it, your father and his face when you were standing at his kitchen table, talking about Kyle, when you had sworn on the Bible that you are <em>not</em>—</p><p>That nothing like that<em>—</em></p><p>“Look,” you say. “I’ll be as honest as possible because y’all deserve that.”</p><p><em>He is in so much pain, Shelb, </em>your father had said. <em>And if this is the life he chooses, he’s gonna be all alone. There ain’t gonna be a place for him here.  </em>  </p><p>“I do believe that way of life is a sin.”</p><p>She’s on her feet instantly. “I can’t fucking believe this!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” you get out. “But everything that I’ve ever known has taught me that.”</p><p>And you believe it, don’t you? You believe that if she chooses—</p><p>That she will—</p><p>“There is no hate in my heart. I just feel sorry—”</p><p>“<em>Fuck you.</em>”</p><p>She spits the words out, spits them like venom right in your face. There’s another heartbeat where both of you are just looking at each other, and then she storms off.  Leaves, like she did when she ran off the other night. Leaves, because it’s easier to go than to be left behind.</p><p>Tense quiet falls around you.</p><p>“What?” you breathe out, shakily. “Am I not allowed to have my own believes?”</p><p>Dot is the only one who speaks. “Not those ones.”</p><p>It hurts more than you were ready for. You pulse throbs in your wrists, your neck. You feel sweaty and cold. No one is looking at you.</p><p>When you walk away, your dark church swallows you whole.</p><p>:::</p><p>It’s like the ten plagues come to life; everyone gets sick, instantly, and all at once.</p><p>But this is no book of Exodus. Your Egypt does not have a Pharaoh. Your Egypt is a deserted island with teenage girls who don’t know what they’re doing, and in a twisted take on punishment, you’re the only one who is unaffected. Watching how, left and right, everyone collapses to the ground.</p><p>You <em>run. </em>Boiling water, cooling it as carefully as you can. Taking cans from one person to the next. Holding Nora’s hair out of her face as she dry-heaves, rubbing your hands over Rachel’s sweaty skin. Toni can’t seem to hold any water down and Leah looks downright delirious.</p><p>You try to think of something to do, <em>anything</em>, finally deciding that you could try and find more food—some berries or nuts, anything to settle the girls’ stomachs. But when you return to the beach, the situation is even worse.</p><p>Your heart is hammering in your chest with dread. Leah has gotten the bag with the meds but it doesn’t seem to be complete. You can hear Dot cursing about the halophen. Leah hurries over to the shade, and—</p><p>“Dot! <em>Dot</em>—”</p><p>Toni’s on the ground, shaking like a leaf.</p><p>“Oh, Lord.” You drop down to your knees, fingers brushing against her skin. She’s chilled and sweaty all over. “She’s in bad shape.”</p><p>Dot holds up the halophen. “This’ll help. But there’s only one.”  </p><p>Panic floods into your voice. “Come on, Dottie, it’s obvious who needs it most.”</p><p>Dot turns. “Martha, you good?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll take a Pepto,” Martha says. “I’ll be good.”</p><p>Before you know what you’re doing, the pill is in your hand. <em>This. </em>This you can do. “Okay, Toni, I’m gonna need you to take this, all right?”</p><p>Her eyes are bloodshot, face gray, voice all wrecked. “Get away from me.”</p><p>Fear charges through you.</p><p>She can’t—</p><p>Not when—</p><p>“Should Shelby really be on the front lines of this, considering the shit that just went—”</p><p>“I got this,” you snap at Fatin. “All right?” You turn right back to Toni. “If I put this in your hand, can you take it?”</p><p>She’s all bite, even like this, hissing the words at you through her teeth. “I’m not gonna take shit from you.”</p><p>“It’ll save your life, Toni. You’re taking the damn pill!”</p><p>“Fuck it, Shelby,” Dot cuts in. “Just give it to me. I’ll fucking do it.”</p><p>“Shelby, give her the fucking pill, what are you<em>—” </em></p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ, am I not allowed to help her!”</p><p>It’s a split-second decision. Hands on her shoulders, slamming her <em>down</em>. Both of you collapsing hard against the ground, all the breath knocked from Toni’s lungs at once. You squeeze her nose shut, hold it, hold it—</p><p>Your lips are inches from her mouth.</p><p><em>Stop, </em>you want to scream. <em>Stop fighting me off. </em></p><p>Toni struggles, then gasps for air.</p><p>You shove the pill between her lips, clasp your hand right over it and push down<em>. I’m not leaving you to die. </em>Your whole body keeping her locked in place. <em>I’m not fucking leaving you. </em>  </p><p>All the noise whites out. Only the sound of your own voice as you say, “Swallow the fucking pill.”</p><p>She spasms violently against your hand, tries to push you off for another second longer, but your knees dig hard into her hips and then her whole body goes slack against yours. You ease up. She coughs and coughs.</p><p>Your body is shaking, legs still bracketing her hips.</p><p>She’s swallowed the pill, and you scramble to get to your feet. Before anyone can say anything, you walk away.</p><p>:::</p><p>“Why did you do it? Why did you give me the last one?”</p><p>It snaps. It was going to, of course. You couldn’t have done what you did without any consequences, but you didn’t expect it like this. Not so soon. Not so violently.</p><p>“Toni...”</p><p>She’s so angry that you feel like you’re going to cut yourself on it. “You wasted it on me!”</p><p>“Toni, I did not—”</p><p>“<em>Look at her!</em>” Her voice cracks. She’s bent over Martha’s body. “Okay, she’s a <em>good</em> person. And she cares about people, and people care about her, and she has a whole family, and you threw <em>me </em>a lifeline.”</p><p>Anger flares in your own body. “Toni, you were dying.”  </p><p>“Who cares!”</p><p>The words slam against your chest, drowning everything else out.</p><p>“I don’t matter,” she bites out.</p><p>So much between the two of you feels charged to killing voltage. Like nothing else can even come close. Like this is the only thing that is happening in the entire universe; this wrecked confession from her lips, this look in her eyes. The knife-sharp realization that hours ago you told her to her face that you think—</p><p>And now she’s—</p><p>“Fuck, I don’t matter...” She lowers herself to Martha’s body. “I don’t matter, I don’t fucking matter.”</p><p>It sounds like a mantra, clawing at your heat, at your faith. And what do you really know about sin, anyway? What do you know about who deserves to go to heaven and who doesn’t? How can she think for even one fucking second that she doesn’t—</p><p>Dot shoves Leah back.</p><p>Something about the meds, something you can’t follow.</p><p>Toni wraps herself around Martha’s body and you hate yourself.</p><p>:::</p><p>You get nightmares.</p><p>After everything, the clams and the food poisoning and the fallout with the rest of the girls, you get nightmares. You weren’t sleeping all that well to begin with, but now your nights are filled with monsters, with beasts. The dark roaring of the waves and of the demons in your head.</p><p>You dream of Becca, over and over. You dream of the last time you spoke to her, all different possible versions of what happened, spiraling outwards. You dream you tell her the truth. You dream you take her inside of the house. You dream you leave her to die on the porch, like you did. You dream she kills you back.</p><p>You don’t tell anyone, of course. Why would you? No one is speaking to you, anyway. You know you are hated for what you’ve said. There has been a shift in the dynamic and your God has no place here anymore.</p><p>Leah keeps watching you. Wherever you go, whether it’s to wash clothes or find food or get water, her eyes are burning into the back of your head.</p><p>When you find the bags, eventually, you think it’ll be a relief. You think everyone will be glad to see what you have found, not for your own sake, but at least for the meds, the clothes, and the entire bottle of vodka that you don’t particularly see the purpose of.</p><p>It’s something, you think. It’ll do.</p><p>But then Leah loses her mind over the lighter.</p><p>“It’s like a <em>deus ex machina</em>!”</p><p>You frown. “It’s like a what?”</p><p>Her voice goes pitched. “It’s like this perfect little thing that somehow has everything that we need and—” Hands flying up to her hair. “I find it really fucking creepy that you found this, just like you did before.”</p><p>It feels like a wave rising, growing taller by the minute.</p><p>“I think something pretty fucked is going on here and I think somebody knows all about it.”</p><p>Accusation after accusation.</p><p>“Why the <em>fuck </em>would Jeannette bring this shit to a casual retreat in Hawaii?” Leah’s eyes are bloodshot as she charges at you. “Who gave you this bag and what the fuck do you know?”</p><p>Everyone is standing, but no one is stepping in.</p><p>“—and not to mention she didn’t any of the fucking mussels!”</p><p>“I said I was allergic,” you push back.</p><p>Leah yanks the lighter from Dot’s hand. She holds it up in the air like she’s going to destroy it, and you go numb all over.</p><p>Nora pins her — <em>get a grip, please </em>— but Leah knocks her back, running the moment she’s on her feet. “Where are you going, Shelby? Where do you sneak off to every morning and every night, and what the <em>fuck </em>is happening on this island?”</p><p>She yanks you forward by the collar of your jacket, dirty fingers clasping your face, hard. “You’re hiding something, I fucking know it!”</p><p>And you deserve it, you <em>deserve </em>to be spat at and screamed at.</p><p>You deserve it because—</p><p>“Okay, yes, maybe I am!” You shove her off, rip the retainer from your mouth. “Happy? This is it! This is the big secret! I’m a freak who wears my teeth on a piece of plastic—” Leah backs up. “—and I’m not sneaking off as part of some dirty scheme, all right. I’ve been cleaning this thing. As privately as possible like I’ve done since I was eleven years old.”</p><p>She stares at you, face gone expressionless.</p><p>“Does that sort of answer your question?” Your voice shakes. “Or if not, I could give you a better look.”</p><p>You bare your teeth at her like an animal. Like a beast from your dreams. You were the monster all along—and now everyone knows.     </p><p>“I’m a fake bitch with dentures,” you say, stepping around Leah, looking at the rest. “Just one more reason to hate me.”</p><p>She’s right there, right there for you to look at. Lips parted, eyebrows creased, eyes a little wide.</p><p>“Not that you needed any more.”</p><p>You say it to her face, and Toni is quiet for once.</p><p>:::</p><p>She finds you in the woods.</p><p>You’ve calmed to a point where you don’t feel much of anything, besides exhaustion. You’re exhausted. That’s the only thing.</p><p>“Just getting a jump on the firewood situation,” Toni says.</p><p>Right. This isn’t on purpose, then, since she clearly feels the need to tell you to your face that this isn’t about you. Lest you thought otherwise.</p><p>You stare ahead. “I only came here to get some space. I’m not, like... up to anything.”</p><p>“Hey, I never took you for a special ops rat. That’s Leah’s shit.”</p><p>Her voice comes from somewhere behind you because you don’t feel like turning around. You scoff. “Right. You just think I’m an asshole.”</p><p>There’s a brief second where your eyes meet hers, anyway, and something plays at the corner of Toni’s mouth, almost like a smile.</p><p>She whistles through her teeth. “You say your prayers with that mouth?”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck her.</em>
</p><p>That’s your first thought.</p><p>And then, overriding it—</p><p>Something like release, a tiny fracture in the tension. It feels better than expected.</p><p>“Do you ever play pranks?” Toni goes on. “Those fangs of yours, you know, take ‘em out, put ‘em on top of your brother’s lasagna when he’s not looking?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You should think about it,” she says, voice a little hoarse in that infuriating way that always gets under your skin. “Could be a dope signature move.”</p><p>She leans down to grab some more wood from the forest ground, and the realization hits you a little abruptly; the fact that she’s talking to you like this, almost casually, almost jokingly. That, somehow, she’s extending this to you. This weird version of a truce. Despite the fact that she has seen what you truly look like. What’s underneath all the shine. How <em>ugly </em>you are.   </p><p>Three days ago she’d screamed at you that she doesn’t matter, and the feeling of responsibility and guilt over it, worse than whatever internal hatred you’ve got going on, burns through you.</p><p>“Y-you know.” You scramble to your feet. “My-my issues with... well, whatever, with... with who you are...” She stares at you. “I don’t hate you, Toni. You get that, right?”</p><p>Her mouth turns into a straight line, annoyance flowing into her expression. “Yeah. You actually do, though.” Your gaze drops down and Toni says, “I saw your face when shit got a little too gay for you. You fucking shuddered. I’m sorry, that’s hate. Least you could do is own it.”</p><p>You look back up at her but she avoids your eyes. Just leans forward and starts picking up branches of wood again.</p><p>You’re trying to find the right words for what you want to say. You’re trying to tell her <em>you do matter </em>without saying it out loud. You want to talk without having to be in the conversation.  </p><p>“Let me help,” is the only thing you manage.</p><p>:::</p><p>The woods get more tangled, the further you move away from the beach.</p><p>It feels good to work, to give your hands something to busy themselves with. Neither of you say a lot, but you manage to get a large pile of twigs and branches together, all stacked in the open clearing. Sunlight pours gold trough the leaves around you. Everything smells like earth and light and water. Your own garden in the middle of nowhere.</p><p>“It’s genetic, by the way. The...” You gesture vaguely to your mouth. “When my baby teeth fell out, the other ones just never came in, in case you were wondering.”</p><p>“I wasn’t,” she says.</p><p>You fumble with your fingers. “Yeah, I’m not fishing for sympathy.” She just continues to separate the wood, and for whatever reason you feel inclined to add, “But it hasn’t not been hard.”</p><p>You’re not exactly sure where you’re going with this. She’s made it pretty clear that she’s still mad at you, and she has every right to be. But still, you can’t shake off the urge to somehow correct where you went wrong before. To counter-balance what she said on the beach. A way to expose yourself, just a little bit, just so that she knows she’s not the only one who sometimes feels like—</p><p>“Okay, Becky, maybe don’t talk to me about hard,” Toni snaps.</p><p>You hook onto the energy of it, the little spark. If she’s fighting with you, at least she’s speaking to you.</p><p>“Nobody believes me when I say this, but I do have actual problems. Like, way more than you can imagine.”</p><p>She gets to her feet. Her sweater is a little dirty, covered with sand and twigs, but the fabric of it looks really soft. You don’t know why the thought even crosses your mind, but before it can stick it onto something rational, Toni brushes her hands on her leggings and says, “All right, great. Let’s hear ‘em.”</p><p>Days ago, you were standing in front of each other just like this. Question. Challenge. Fight. Between the two of you, it never seems clear where exactly the lines are.</p><p>“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to be pitch-perfect every second?” You step forward just a bit. “To be watched like a hawk for the slightest bit of weight gain or the tiniest wobble in my heel or... or if my hem is just a centimeter off regulations, or I say the wrong thing about international politics? Well, then, God help me.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes at you. “So, you’re complaining about being judged when you literally signed up for that?”</p><p>
  <em>No. </em>
</p><p><em>Well—</em>  </p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>Something in your throat feels thick. You don’t know what you’re saying, you don’t know what you’re getting at, but all you can think about is how scared she’d looked when she said she doesn’t matter. Teeth out, ready to bite you, make you bleed for saving her fucking life. But underneath—</p><p>“I know,” you say. “I know, but... I’m not just talking about pageant stuff.”</p><p>Toni just looks at you, and sometimes, you swear to God, it’s like a fucking mirror.</p><p><em>I see you</em>, she’d said, and you hadn’t said it back, but you do, don’t you? You know what it takes to uphold a front.</p><p>“It feels like, everywhere I go...” you say. “Somebody is asking me to, like... to meet some kind of expectation.”</p><p>She’s still looking at you.</p><p>“It’s just a lot, that’s all,” you say. “The pressure.”</p><p>Toni shifts. “Yeah, well, my dad’s been a no-show since day one and my mom’s in and out of rehab like it’s the fucking White Castle. So nobody expects shit from me. Doesn’t feel great either.”</p><p>It’s defensive. Clipped and sharp. She fights, whenever she gets overwhelmed. She fights and burns and plays with fire. For days, you’ve been watching how she keeps herself safe. How she’d rather prove everyone right and be angry and impossible and explosive, because it’s safer to keep people at a distance than it is to have them close.</p><p>“Do you know how many field trips I’ve had to bail on, ‘cause no one’s been there to sign my permission slip?” she says. The words wavering, and just like that the attitude cracks, just like it did when she was next to Martha on the beach. “And I don’t give a fuck about going to the planetarium, you know. It just would’ve been nice to have someone there to say that I could.”</p><p>Somehow, no matter how much you fight or how difficult you make things for each other, you always end up here. Breaking open in front of one another.</p><p>“Yeah, but, like, you don’t—”</p><p>“But, what?” she cuts in. “Shelby, if you’re trying to out-sad me, it’s a losing fucking battle.”</p><p>Your breath goes heavy, something like desperation rising, because yes, she’s right, but—</p><p>“But you’re free, don’t you see that!” Your voice gets louder. “You don’t have to answer to anybody.”</p><p>“And neither do you,” she fires back. “Not right now, anyway. I mean, you’re on a deserted island, a million miles away from whatever bullshit expectations that you left behind.”</p><p>Days ago, it was just like this. Everything a mirror. All this heat and all this tension.</p><p>“You’re free here, Shelby,” Toni cuts out, and she’s pushing you right towards it. Right towards—</p><p>“And if you’re not taking advantage of that, then I don’t know what the fuck to tell you.”</p><p><em>The edge of the cliff</em>.</p><p>It’s the last thought that crosses your mind, before you close the space between you, and everything fades out, as your mouth connects with hers.  </p><p>You kiss her, desperate and shaking. Your hands on her neck, thumbs on her jaw, pulling her forward.</p><p>You kiss her like it’s oxygen. Kiss her like you’ve wanted to since you met her. Kiss her, all of your desire breaking out of you, breaking every single promise you have ever made.   </p><p>Toni gasps against your lips, the shock of it charging through her body. She tenses, just for a moment, but then she falls into you. Her hands skim over your waist, to your back, unsure of where to touch you, fingers sliding over the bare skin of your sides.</p><p>Her mouth is soft and hot. She brings a hand up to the side of your neck, touches your jaw, kisses you <em>back—</em></p><p>You break away from her.</p><p>Toni’s eyes are wide, realization and confusion all mixed up.</p><p>All this time you’ve been so aware of the space that exists between you. So aware of her position relative to yours. Wondering how much of what belongs to her you’re allowed to take up. This is the closest you have ever been, and you can’t handle it.</p><p>Like a mirror; what you see on her face, the same as what you’ve been running away from in your own reflection.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t come any closer. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t make me poison you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you truly knew all these dark and awful things I’m hiding inside of me, under my skin and in my heart and running through my blood, you would not love me.   </em>
</p><p>Eden collapses, the island opening up under your feet.</p><p>You can feel the faint press of Toni’s mouth on yours, aching and sweet and addictive.</p><p>One bite of the apple was enough to get Eve kicked out of paradise. <em>When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. </em>One look in the mirror enough to get Lucifer thrown from the heavens. <em>Your heart became proud on account of your beauty, and you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor.</em></p><p>The origin of sin not the act, but the enjoyment. Maybe she liked what she ate. Maybe he liked what he saw. Maybe if you’d kiss her again—</p><p>You will not wait for God to throw you from the heavens to the earth.</p><p>You will see yourself out.    </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've been so overwhelmed by the response to this! Your comments and feedback have been fucking excellent and I hope this chapter, too, is what you expected from it. Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think! You can come yell at me on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: This chapter deals with the events of 1x08 and 1x09. While we definitely end on a very positive and way more affirmative note (spoiler alert: they kiss under the lychee tree lol), the first half of this chapter is pretty rough and deals with some hectic internalized homophobia. </p><p>I also want to note two trigger warnings for mentions of suicide and (light) suicidal thought, just to be on the safe side. </p><p>While the chapter definitely arcs towards lightness and good feelings, if you do struggle with any elements, just know that I love you and I see you. I will do my very fucking best to grant you every bit of love and validation and affirmation in the next few chapters of this fic. Things will get so, so good for these two, I promise!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>perdition - /pəˈdɪʃ(ə)n/</em>
</p><p>
  <em>noun</em>
</p>
<ol>
<li><em>(in Christian theology) a state of eternal punishment and damnation into which a sinful and unrepentant person passes after death</em></li>
<li><em>complete and utter ruin</em></li>
</ol><p>:::</p><p>Your favorite memory with Becca, is the day the two of you got your bellybuttons pierced.</p><p>It wasn’t planned, of course. You would never plan to do such a thing. Both of you good enough girls — you more so than Becca, sure, but still — not to do things without asking for permission first, and not to mention very underage<em>. </em>But it had been the last Saturday of winter break, one last full day completely stretched out for just the two of you—and Becca’s birthday on top of that.</p><p>“What do you want to do?” you’d asked her. “You can pick anything and we’ll do it.”</p><p>“Anything?” Becca had said, eyes glinting.</p><p>How exactly you had ended up in the tiny, sketchy piercing parlor is still beyond you. What you remember: you’d driven for a long time, all the way out of town and into the next one, and then the one after that. Singing along to whatever pop country songs had been playing on the radio. What you remember: getting milkshakes somewhere unfamiliar, Becca’s hand in yours as you’d weave in and out of clothing stores, laughing at all the different looks you were trying on. And then: the leather of the black couch in the small waiting area of the piercing parlor, the smell of disinfectant all around you, your interlaced fingers suddenly a little clammy.</p><p>“What are we doing, Becs?” you had whispered. “Isn’t this, like, <em>illegal</em>?”</p><p>She’d laughed. “Illegal? To get piercings?”</p><p>“Without parental permission. Getting them without parental permission. Aren’t they going to card us?”</p><p>Becca had just shrugged, her eyes so bright and blue in the afternoon sunlight that it had made you quiet. “They said they’d do it.”</p><p>You remember the nerves fluttering wildly in your stomach. “They said yes? Just like that?” </p><p>Becca had grinned. “Sometimes all it takes is asking real nice.  Learned that from you, Shelbs.”</p><p>You got the ones in your ears first. Becca a helix, this silver thing, real pretty, with a tiny sphere in the center to link the band. You had decided to get your tragus pierced, a little bit impulsively, after the piercer — some college-aged girl called Jamie, with dark eyebrows and long, slender fingers — had suggested it. She’d been kind and patient while you examined the result in the mirror, even handing you a plastic cup of water, though you weren’t really in need of it after the fact.</p><p>Maybe she’d had a feeling for what was coming, though, because just as you were giddy with relief — relief at it being over, relief you made it through, relief at only having to get this one thing past your parents — Becca had said, “This is fun. Should we get another one?”</p><p>Your pulse had been out of control. “Another one?”</p><p>If you close your eyes, you can still feel the way her gaze had gone up and down your body, landing on the tiny strip of skin between your jeans and your white, cropped t-shirt. “You should get a navel piercing.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, c’mon,” Becca had said. “You’d look so hot, Shelb.”</p><p>If you close your eyes, you can still feel the heat of the words, the way they’d landed in this thrilling, overwhelming way, low in your body.</p><p>“Only if you get one, too.”</p><p>You figured she wouldn’t do it. But Becca had smirked. “Well, it <em>is </em>my birthday.</p><p>It was worse than the tragus. More terrifying, more intense. It hurt more, too. But Lord, did you love it.</p><p>This small, little secret, forever marking the day as one to remember.</p><p>A tiny, shiny sin—one that belonged to just the two of you.</p><p>:::</p><p>You pray.</p><p>Silently, internally.</p><p>You pray and pray and pray. It’s the only thing you can focus on.</p><p>You’re vaguely aware of the fact that you’re all sitting around the fire, suddenly subdued after all the fighting. Nora and Rachel out of breath, Dot with her nose still bleeding. You’re aware of the rock pressing into your back, of the fact that you’re still <em>here</em>, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like you can hold off whatever damnation is awaiting you. You’re aware of the other girls’ breathing, of <em>her—</em></p><p>Right next to you.</p><p>You’re insanely aware of it.</p><p>But—</p><p>You’re also somewhere else. Lost in the spinning mess of your thoughts. Bible verses and prayers. Memories. The ghost feeling of Toni’s kiss. You’re trembling with it, can’t seem to get it to stop. It’s like there’s a shakiness in your blood that keeps flowing through your entire body, keeps running and running—</p><p>“Here.” Toni’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Boiled and cooled, if you’re thirsty.”    </p><p>She holds out one of the pink bottles but you don’t take it. You can’t take it. You can’t even look at her.</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“Okay.” She looks at you carefully, her shoulders slumped forward a bit as she leans against her knee, like she isn’t quite sure how to position herself. “Change your mind...” </p><p>You’re waiting, you realize then.</p><p>You’re waiting for to respond like you <em>expect </em>her to. Waiting for things to explode, for everything to be ruined. For the inevitable destruction of her reaction to what happened between you in the woods.</p><p>Part of you craves it. Part of you needs Toni to push back against this, as hard as she can, just so that the vile shame inside your body will have something to anchor itself to. You need her tell you to fuck off, to leave her alone, to never speak to her again. You need her to tell you: <em>how fucking dare you kiss me like that, you bitch?</em></p><p>You almost flinch at the thought, but you force yourself to take it.</p><p>After all, there’s an even more twisted afterthought to it. A version of her reaction so cruel and dark that you can barely even imagine it. But it presses itself forward, regardless. Rises up from inside the wretched, poisoned place of you.</p><p>Her voice, mocking and mean, not sounding like her voice at all, curling in your mind.</p><p>
  <em>Did you want me to like it, Shelby? Did you actually think I would enjoy it? </em>
</p><p>Slashing even the slightest hint of possibility.</p><p>
  <em>Do you really fucking think I could ever be into you?</em>
</p><p>Your throat feels dry. Feels like you can’t get any breath to and from and your lungs.</p><p>And this should be the last thing on your mind, whether she even liked it or not. Whether she even likes <em>you. </em></p><p>It should be the <em>last </em>thing. But it’s not. </p><p>Because the longer she sits quietly next to you, not reacting the way you need her to, the more difficult it gets to keep everything separate: your shame and your panic, your prayers and your hope. The fear that she truly does hate you all mixed up with the memory of how she’d pressed back against you, softening against you, shocked but kissing you back, like maybe it wasn’t actually all that evil and sinful and—</p><p>“Aren’t you going to suggest some <em>never would I rather </em>shit?”</p><p>You belatedly realize that Dot is speaking to you.</p><p>All you can manage is the tiniest shake of your head. You bow your head, trying not to feel Toni’s eyes on you.</p><p>She studies you like she’s trying to work it all out, every piece of it, and you feel like if she’d look any more closely, she’d actually see it, too. See you as you truly are. Not a Christian, but a liar. Not a girl, but rather something black-eyed and demonic. </p><p>“God,” Rachel says. “We’re really gonna die here.”</p><p><em>Maybe it would be best, </em>you think.</p><p>Maybe it would be best if you would die. If every single thing you’ve ever done would just... end.</p><p>That’s when the plane flies over.</p><p>:::</p><p>You’ve had alcohol before. Admittedly, not much; sips of beer and wine here and there, and a canned cocktail or two that one time at one of Andrew’s pool parties. But you haven’t had alcohol like this.</p><p>Everything feels blurry and splintered.</p><p>You drink fast and messily, letting the burning, chemical taste of it block everything out. The rest of the girls are somewhere in the distance, but here, you’re all alone. You raise the bottle of vodka, blink and blink again until your teeth—your retainer right there on the rock in front of you—come into focus. </p><p>Everything already splintered.</p><p>Might as well try to smash it to pieces.</p><p>:::</p><p>You don’t do it, though.</p><p>Your father would kill you.</p><p>:::</p><p>At some point, you make it back to the girls. You think you confess something about orgasms. You’re not exactly sure. You think maybe Toni’s watching you but nothing really registers.</p><p>The eight of you are going to be taken away from this island. That’s the only thing you’re sure of.</p><p>The pilot of that fucking plane is going to inform the authorities of some country, whatever country is the closest, and then everything will be taken from you—the ocean and the hunger and the dirt. Your open space and night sky and this singular, uncontrolled, <em>blissful </em>kiss.</p><p>This one moment you’ve had with her.</p><p>It’s going to be ripped from your sight before you’ll even have a chance to really look at it.</p><p>God has sent a plane. That is what you’re sure of.</p><p>Not to save you, not really. He has sent a plane to take you. Put you right where you belong;  back to Texas to repent. If you even fucking <em>can. </em></p><p>Maybe, if you don’t end up dead on this island, that is where you’ll die. Back in your home, back in your life, back inside the walls of your church.</p><p>Suffocated. Closed in. Choked.</p><p>Maybe all girls who kiss girls eventually end up killing themselves, one way or another.</p><p>:::</p><p>Toni strips down to her black sports bra to swim in the waves and not even the alcohol can blur it from your mind.</p><p>You reach for the bottle and drink some more.</p><p>:::</p><p>The memory of it, of the moment you found out, is one you’ve blocked out so much that you’ve almost buried it. Buried it like you’ve buried her, so deep into the darkness.</p><p>Becca Gilroy only surfaces when you no longer have any control over yourself. Like when you’ve cut all the strings holding up your performance. Like when you’re drunk out of your mind on a deserted island. </p><p>You’re remember the dressing room. You remember the glint of your earrings every time you looked at yourself in the mirror. The make-up, the fake lashes, these four girls next to you; the way they’d tensed when they realized who you were.</p><p>You remember feeling the dread of it before you even heard the words. Every inch of your body bracing itself, for no reason at all.</p><p>And then—</p><p>
  <em>It’s Becca Gilroy.</em>
</p><p>Everything going cold around you. All the noise drained away.</p><p>Staring at yourself in the mirror, reminding yourself <em>you are still here</em>, and then walking out of the dressing room and onto stage—reminding yourself, but even then, not actually being sure.</p><p>:::</p><p>It’s the same feeling that washes over you now.</p><p>Like if you’re not careful, you’re going to just cease to exist, pulled away by something so much darker and stronger. You wonder if, somewhere along the long line of all twisted things you’ve done, you’ve asked for this. If part of you wanted to be hurt like you’ve hurt her.</p><p>Don’t we want to know how far our tolerance for pain stretches? Don’t we want to know how much more of this we can take?</p><p>You bring the silver cross that hangs on your neckless up to your lips, pressing it against your mouth, just to feel something <em>real</em>. You pray and pray, but no one answers.</p><p>Maybe God has forgotten you exist. Maybe He is better off for it.  </p><p>:::</p><p>She must have told Martha.</p><p>She must have told Martha about what happened and what a fucking disaster it was, because they keep laughing about something and Toni keeps looking back over her shoulder, stealing all these glances at you, like it’s all some secret joke, and you can just imagine her telling Martha how you fucking threw yourself at her and tried to—</p><p>Becca flashes through your mind, again.</p><p>The fight. <em>You wanted my life to be as fucked up as yours is. </em>The lies you’ve been so good at spinning. <em>I’m not your friend. </em>How you’ve been keeping everything turning on its axis and now everything is finally catching up with you. <em>I feel sorry for you. I pity you.</em></p><p>You’d said the same thing to Toni, didn’t you? Tried to say it, anyway.</p><p>
  <em>There is no hate in my heart, I just feel sorry—</em>
</p><p>Toni glances back at you once again, and you can’t seem to unsee Becca. The look in her eyes when you’d lashed out at her about Brian, about forcing him, when you’d said, <em>maybe on top of all your other issues, you’re like overly sexual or something</em>.</p><p>And Becca had said, “<em>You </em>kissed me.” </p><p>Becca, saying it out loud.</p><p>Like Toni’s probably doing right now.  </p><p>
  <em>She kissed me. </em>
</p><p>The shame of it is so overwhelming that you feel nauseous. You fumble with your necklace, keep trying to pray—<em>Lord, in your mercy</em>—but you can’t seem to get the words to fit together. Can’t stop looking at her. Can’t stop thinking about how fucking stupid you are; how she doesn’t even like you; how she’s made that very clear, more than once.</p><p>She could have any girl she wants and she’s probably telling Martha all about it. How pathetic you are. How awful and ugly and bad. Your mind such a tangled mess, all snakes and venom.</p><p>How could you have done what you have done, how could you—</p><p>“Hey, what are you, um—” You’re surprised you can even steady your voice. That’s how blurry everything feels. “What are you doing over here?”</p><p>She runs her hand over the ground. “Just collecting some sand. I kind of felt like I should take a part of this place back with me. Not sure why.”</p><p>“Well, that makes two of us. Zero clue why you’d want any souvenir from this godforsaken place.”</p><p>She looks up at you. Her eyes are a little bloodshot. “What do you want, Shelby?”</p><p>She sounds tired, you think.</p><p>You’re exhausting her.</p><p>“What do you mean, what do I want?”</p><p>Her eyebrows knit together defensively. “Okay, you avoid me all day and now you’re hovering.” She sounds a tiny bit mad. She sounds like you want her to sound, finally. “I can’t really tell what you’re doing apart from getting hammered so you probably should just tell me.”</p><p>It makes you focus just enough. “What I want—” you say. “—is to know exactly what you and Martha were talking about.”</p><p>“Well, she’s ripped out of her skull right now so... food, or maybe the cloud she thought looked like her uncle.”</p><p>It’s dismissive in a way that grips you by the throat.</p><p>“You—you told her, didn’t you? You told her about, about the whole...”</p><p>You can’t even bring yourself to say it, to bring the words into the space between you.</p><p>Toni’s mouth parts and she stares at you so hard, so intensely, that it knocks you completely off balance. Like what you’re saying is so offensive, so outrageous. Like, <em>how could you even think</em>—</p><p>“<em>Did you tell her</em>?”</p><p>“No!” she snaps. “Fuck! I would never.”</p><p>Her voice breaks and clearly it can only mean that she is completely appalled at the idea, so you rush out, “Okay, ‘cause you’re that ashamed.”</p><p>She scoffs, a breathless, barely audible sound. “No, <em>you </em>are obviously the one with the shame.”</p><p>There’s something in her voice that you don’t want to hear, that you can’t really handle enough to hear. Affect. She sounds affected. Like what you’re saying is hurting her.</p><p>And isn’t that—</p><p>Isn’t that just what you were so afraid of?</p><p>Isn’t that just what you do?</p><p>“Okay,” Toni says, turning her body towards you. “I’m not gonna lecture you on how or why or how fast you should figure things out for yourself.” Your eyes lock with hers. “But, you know, all your hateful church is not gonna help you figure out who you—”</p><p>Before she can even get the words out, you yank on her arms, hands digging into her wrists as hard as you can. Spurred on by your father’s voice. By your Lord’s presence.</p><p>“I know exactly who I am,” you bite out. “I cannot wait to get home and get back to her.”</p><p>Toni stares at you.</p><p>She pulls her bottom lip back with her teeth and doesn’t say anything, and in your mind you can hear the echo of First Corinthians, 6:9. <em>Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? </em></p><p>You looks hurt, she really does. You have hurt her, and all you want, so badly, is for her to hurt you back. To tell you that you’re fucked out of your mind. That you can’t even distinguish your own lies from the truth, like you couldn’t with Becca. You want her to tell you: <em>fuck the kingdom of God, you can stay right here, with me. </em></p><p>Instead, she lets you go. </p><p>:::</p><p>She lets you go until you break down completely. Until you cut at your hair with a pair of Fatin’s scissors, until you scream and cry your throat hoarse, and finally drop down onto your back in the sand like you won’t get up any time soon.</p><p>This is perdition.</p><p>This is what you’ve prayed for all day.</p><p>:::</p><p>“So, everybody thought I went insane yesterday. And you were like ‘hold my beer’...”</p><p>You don’t look at Leah. Just keep staring up at the sky without even seeing it. There’s a stiff calm in your body now, something run-down and flatlined and empty.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t just come to crack cringy meme jokes,” she adds, after a moment. “I, um... I wanted to apologize for all that...”</p><p>Somewhere in the back of your mind there’s a memory of Leah charging at you on the beach, grabbing onto your jacket. It seems years ago. Before the scissors. Before the vodka bottle. Before the kiss, even.  </p><p>She continues. “And to tell you, as somebody who’s already gone pretty much off the rails, you should try to go easy on yourself.”</p><p>Your throat closes off and out of nowhere tears well up in your eyes. Still, you don’t look at her, don’t really acknowledge her, despite the fact that you’re listening.</p><p>“I know we can’t blame it all on where we are,” she says. “But this place, this situation... it makes you go <em>crazy</em>.”</p><p>She just sits next to you in the sand, hands wrapped around her legs. Close to you, talking to you. It hurts at the back of your throat, the emotion of it very chemically unbalanced. Your body is so still, almost like you’re not here at all, but your chest aches with sudden <em>neediness </em>to tell her not to leave.</p><p>You used to think you didn’t get Leah very much — or she didn’t really get you, anyway — but now...</p><p>“For sixteen days, actual death has been hanging over our heads,” Leah says. “And, yet, the only thing I seem to give a shit about is love. Total fucking psychosis, right?”</p><p>She’s not run from you, you realize then. Quite the opposite. You’re still here, even after everything you’ve said and done, and none of them are running away from you. Eight teenage girls on an island, just trying to stay alive, and that’s when it hits you.  </p><p>Maybe, you think, all of you are actually a little bit poisoned.</p><p>Maybe what you call poison is actually something else. Something Leah will maybe have a word for, one day.</p><p>It pulls something loose inside your chest.</p><p>“Isn’t that what we’re all afraid of?” You let your head drop to the side, enough to look at her. “That we won’t be loved. That we’ll be all alone.”</p><p>She looks at you, eyes dark.</p><p>Maybe all that’s bad inside of you, inside of Leah, inside of everyone, isn’t there because you grew it so. Because you’re at fault for its presence. Maybe it’s there because it was done <em>to </em>you.</p><p>Damage, she would call it.</p><p>You don’t know what to make of the word.</p><p>Leah gets to her feet, quietly brushes some sand off her legs and moves as though to get back to the fire, but something pushes you forward. “Leah?”</p><p>She pauses.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>She nods. “Of course. Train wrecks unite.”</p><p>:::</p><p>As Leah makes her way back to the group, you think about how it’s the same people who have taught you about the goodness of Jesus, who threaten hell on you. The same people who have taught you to be kind, to be loving, who punish you. The same people who have taught you judgement and hatred are the worst of all sins, who abandon their own children.  </p><p>You think of your father, and his fears, and how you have tried and tried and tried, and you can’t do it. You can’t lie it away. You can’t get rid of it. You have tried and you <em>can’t</em> pray it out of you.</p><p>And if God—</p><p>If he hates you for this, then why won’t He strike you dead already? Why didn’t He kill you in the crash? Why didn’t He poison you—snake, clams, alcohol?</p><p>Why, if you are truly so evil for wanting what you want, why hasn’t it killed you yet?</p><p><em>You should try to go easy on yourself, </em>Leah had said.</p><p>You take a shaky breath, echoing the words to yourself, trying to internalize them. You don’t feel drunk anymore. You don’t feel out of control anymore. All you feel, is small and upset and frightened. You take another breath, saying Leah’s words again.</p><p>
  <em>Easy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Train wrecks unite. </em>
</p><p>Somewhere behind you, you can hear the crackle of the fire, the murmur of the girls. The ocean is calm and the wind has settled, and your head is still going a million miles an hour, but ultimately, it’s that soft, steady sound—their low voices and their quiet presence—that manages to soothe you to sleep.</p><p>:::</p><p>In your dream, you pray to the island.</p><p>Many words for many places. Hades. Jahannam. Every religion has their own version of hell. Their own version of heaven, too. And their own gods.</p><p>In the dream, you know there is more to pray to besides your father’s Lord.</p><p><em>Help me, </em>you whisper to the waves<em>. </em>It’s an irrational thing to ask for, but you ask it anyway. Ask it of the trees and of the sand and of the fire. <em>Help me. Please.</em> You ask it of these gods whose names you don’t know, but who you believe in, anyway. Gods that are watching you from below the earth, and from the stormy centers of the wind, and from the darkness of your night. You pray to your island, <em>if you are listening, then let me live. </em></p><p>
  <em>If you are here, then let me stay. </em>
</p><p>:::</p><p>In the morning, the dream is forgotten, slipped from your mind. But there is no plane. No rescue. Nothing but the exact same wide expanse of land and ocean all around you.   </p><p>Your throat feels like sandpaper and your head is pounding so hard that it makes you groan the second you open your eyes to the early morning light.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>So, this is how it feels, then? This is why you should’ve gone easy on the vodka...</p><p>All your muscles are stiff. You feel dirty and worn-out and chilled to the bone, so you make yourself sit up despite the nausea. The only one awake is Nora. She’s sitting close to the fire, slowly feeding it small twigs while she boils water over it.</p><p>She gives you a small smile as you wander over.</p><p>The rest of the girls are still huddled together, asleep. Wrapped in sweaters and make-shift blankets. Dot’s head is resting on top of Martha’s hedgehog slippers like they’re a pillow. Fatin’s fingers are wrapped lightly around the sleeve of Leah’s cardigan; a tiny point of warm contact in the space between them. Toni’s lying on her stomach, a bit to the side and half on top of what you think is Rachel’s grey sweater. She’s got her right arm completely curled around herself, like she’s trying to make herself small, even in sleep, and you stare at a her a moment too long, before Nora’s voice reaches you.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“Morning,” you mumble back, sinking to your knees next to the fire, shivering slightly at the welcome heat.</p><p>Nora doesn’t ask you any questions. She doesn’t probe to see if you’re okay, she doesn’t even seem to take notice of the mess that is your hair; the proof of your insanity.</p><p>“Want some water?” is all she says, and then hands you one of the cans.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>You drink slowly, let it clear your head a bit, let it settle your stomach. The sun has started to rise behind the forest line, the slow heat of it pushing last night further back. You take a breath, feeling more settled than you have in hours. Settled, despite your restless night, despite your headache.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” you tell Nora. “I’m just gonna...” You gesture vaguely at the ocean, and Nora smiles.</p><p>The water is calm. You let the waves wash over your ankles as you take out your retainer and wash your mouth, your face. You throw your jacket on the sand, pull your joggers up to your knees and wade a little deeper, bending forward to run the sand off your arms, to scrub your skin.</p><p>Later, you’ll do it again with the water from the waterfall. But for now, the ocean washes last night off your skin.</p><p>When you get back, more of the girls are awake. Martha stretches as she gets to her feet. Leah is tiptoeing between the sleeping bodies, rummaging through the suitcases and probably checking for any leftover food. Toni has taken a seat next to Nora, knees up and arms wrapped around them, curled into herself like she does.</p><p>She doesn’t really look at you when you walk over, save for a quick glance that somehow makes your stomach flutter.</p><p>You remind yourself not to be so aware of her.</p><p>With shaky fingers, you take up another Diet Coke can filled with water and bring it to your lips, drinking slowly. Rachel wakes up and says something to Nora about taking over fire duty. You stare up at the sky, and there is still no plane, no sign of anything.</p><p>You’re still as far away from Texas as you’ve ever been.</p><p>“Headache?”</p><p>Toni’s voice is soft, masked more or less by Nora and Rachel’s talking, and if she wasn’t looking at you, you wouldn’t have realized she’s talking to you.  </p><p>“Yeah,” you say, rubbing your fingers over your temple as you meet her eyes. “Is that—is it always like this?”</p><p>Toni’s lips twitch just a bit. She shrugs. “Vodka’s a bitch.”</p><p>It’s the only real conversation you have all morning. Toni keeps her distance and you busy yourself with getting water, with cleaning, with looking for firewood. Dot is worried about how little food you have left, but Fatin is quick to remind her that rescue is coming. Martha, too. The day heats up and the light gets brighter, and your hair is a mess, but you tie it back and decide to ignore it for now.</p><p>If anything, your headache and nausea are distracting enough.</p><p>“Here.” She’s in front of you before you realized she was walking over, dropping something into the sand right next to your leg. “Stole ‘em from Fatin. For your hangover.”</p><p>She pushes her hands in the pockets of her shorts and takes a step back almost immediately. There’s a bit of hesitation to her now, like she’s careful not to push you in any sort of way. It causes a slight twitch of annoyance in your chest, despite the fact that you can’t really blame her.</p><p>But then your eyes catch on the sight of Fatin’s sunglasses, right next to you.</p><p>Your heart stutters. “Oh, Toni, that’s—”</p><p>Toni shrugs. “It’s whatever.”</p><p>She walks away before you can say anything else. You put the sunglasses on, then lie back in the sand, looking up at the sky.</p><p>There’s only the sound of the waves and of the birds flying over.</p><p>:::</p><p>One day turns into two, and two turn into three, and the sky stays completely empty of airplanes and rescue missions.</p><p>You think about God.</p><p>You think about how you thought you were going to be dragged away, and instead, it’s like He’s saying, <em>not yet. </em></p><p>The Lord — as cliché as it sounds — works in mysterious ways. You were supposed to be killed, but you weren’t. You were supposed to be damned for your sins, but the island feels better to you than it has at any other point before.</p><p>Three days turn into four, four into five.</p><p>The sun is hot and the water is clear and, whenever you pray, you can almost hear the whisper of the answer. </p><p>
  <em>All right, then. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Here’s your Eden.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now show me what you’re going to do with it. </em>
</p><p>:::</p><p>You try not to think about the kiss, but in the growing heat, in the delirium of your slow starvation, you can’t stop it.</p><p>You have thought about it, of course—shamefully, judgmentally. But you haven’t <em>thought </em>about it, truly. You haven’t revisited it on purpose. You haven’t let it linger. You haven’t gone back into the sensation of it the way you can’t seem to resist now.</p><p>Anything, really, can tip you into the memory of it, too, apparently.  </p><p>Toni stretches her arms above her head, the fabric of her top riding up just enough to expose a sliver of tan, smooth skin, and out of nowhere, you can feel the way her mouth had pressed against yours.</p><p>She shakes the last water from one of the bottles, flicking her tongue out to catch the droplets, and the sight of it makes you hot all over.</p><p>More than once, you get lost in fantasies of what could have happened if you hadn’t sprinted away from her the moment she had started to kiss you back.</p><p>You think about her hands on your waist, fingers slipping under your top. You think about her mouth opening against yours, her body, all pressed against you.</p><p>You think — daringly, <em>maddeningly</em> — about kissing the line of her neck, feeling the catch of her breath, kissing lower, her hands in your hair as you run your mouth across her chest, see what it’s like to—</p><p>“I let us eat all of the food.” Dot’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Such a fucking idiot.”</p><p>It pulls you back into reality.</p><p>“Hey.” You shift forward, resting a hand on Dot’s back. “Don’t talk about my friend like that, all right?” She glances at you. “You keep being nasty to her and I’ll have to take you.”</p><p>Dot just stares at you, expressionless, and you pull your retainer out, flash your teeth at her jokingly.</p><p>“Bar fight, 2015. You should’ve seen the other guy.”</p><p>After a beat, she finally allows you the tiniest of smiles, accompanied by the rolling of her eyes, and then she lies back down again.</p><p>It’s not easy. The sun is beating down so hard. Leah spirals out about the pilot, close to crying as she scoffs about him <em>being in on it, </em>on him leaving you all to die. You feel a hint of guilt, but still, you’re not exactly heartbroken over the fact that you’re still stuck in the same place.</p><p>Although, food would be nice.    </p><p>You’re clearly not the only one thinking that.</p><p>:::</p><p>When Toni comes up to you and asks — with her eyes down on the sand and a trying-just-a-bit-too-hard-to-be-casual expression on her face — if you want to join her and Martha on a food run, you have to force yourself not to read too much into it.</p><p>This is purely a means to an end kind of suggestion.</p><p>You need food and you need it fast. The fact of the matter is that you’ll need to walk farther and deeper into the forest to find places you haven’t been before, which is decidedly saver to do with three people. It’s not a personal thing. She could’ve asked anyone.</p><p>And yet, as you trek through the forest, up the hill, Martha in front, Toni in the middle and you trailing the both of them, it's difficult not to think about the fact that she could have asked anyone, but she asked <em>you</em>.</p><p>You’re so caught up in your thoughts, that you don’t notice the branch snagging on your hair until you feel the sharp twitch of it.</p><p>“<em>Ow.</em>”</p><p>You sigh, your fingers trying to untangle it as quickly and painlessly as you can, but God, your hair is such a <em>mess</em>. It’s not until you glance up the second you pull it free, that you notice she stopped walking.</p><p>Her mouth turns into something amused at the sight of you.</p><p>You can feel heat rising to your cheeks. “How bad is it?”</p><p>“Not bad.” She shakes her head a bit, and then adds, “I mean, it looks like you get your hair cut at a salon staffed by toddlers but not bad.”</p><p>It’s just teasing enough that you feel a kind of warm giddiness spread through your body. Toni keeps her eyes on you for a heartbeat longer, the moment extending, but then Martha’s voice interrupts it.</p><p>“Guys, I don’t see any berries left.”     </p><p>You don’t mean for things to unfold the way they do. With Martha’s panic rising the moment she realizes you are suggesting to hunt. With Toni’s loyalty unexpectedly snared between her best friend’s feelings, the necessity for food, and the weird crackling tension that has been in the air whenever you two look at each other. You don’t mean to make Martha storm off, but she does—and all of a sudden it’s just you and Toni.</p><p>“Should we, um...” Your voice catches with light nerves at being alone with her. “Should we just keep looking?”</p><p>Toni nods. “Yeah. Okay.”</p><p>As you go on, the path gets narrower and the trees grow denser. You keep thinking that maybe you should say something, anything.</p><p>There are things you should talk about, you think. Things that, for once, maybe, you wouldn’t mind talking about, if she’d ask.</p><p>But she doesn’t.</p><p>She just walks ahead in silence.</p><p>As you climb higher, though, she start to notice that she keeps glancing back at you in these two-second flashes that are almost worse than full-on eye contact.</p><p>If you weren’t so distracted by it yourself, you might realize there’s no reason for her to keep doing that. It only slows things down, which becomes pretty clear when Toni’s foot ends up slipping on a loose rock in the middle of the path and she nearly tumbles right into you.</p><p>You can’t help but grin as she scrambles to her feet. “You okay there? Wild animals love a hunter who’s real stealthy.”</p><p>She makes a face at you. “Okay, maybe you should go up front, Miss <em>I shot down a ten-point buck and butchered it with my bare fucking hands</em>.”</p><p>You can’t stop your laugh. “It’s Miss Southern Texas, actually.”</p><p>Toni rolls her eyes but the sight of her smile makes your stomach flutter so wildly that you can barely stand it.</p><p>“Damn pageant world,” she says, but there’s no bite to the words.</p><p>It’s soft, no malice at all, and she doesn’t break eye contact. You go a little hot under the attention, so you push past her before she will see it on your face.</p><p>The path gets steep and the sun beats down on your backs, and then Toni says, “I, uh—I have to pee.”</p><p>“Oh.” You’re quick to turn. “I’ll just—”</p><p>You keep your back to her, making sure to give her privacy. You fumble a little with the stick that you’re holding onto, and you try not to think about how much this moment mirrors the first day, when you’d only just met and you were the one turning <em>her </em>around to give you privacy.</p><p>“It’s not happening,” Toni says. “Performance anxiety.”</p><p>“I can walk farther away.”</p><p>“Or, you know, you could sing?”</p><p>You can hear the smile in her voice. It makes you chuckle. “<em>I’m gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket.</em>”</p><p>Toni laughs. “Macklemore? Where did that come from?”</p><p>“First thing that came into my head.”</p><p>“It’s random, I like it,” she says.</p><p>Everything feels light and breezy, and without thinking about it, you sing, “<em>I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come up, this is frickin’ awesome.</em>”  </p><p>She chuckles a bit, then brushes past you, and some of the tension between you has definitely softened, has moved into something kind of new. You tell her, “You know what, the first time that song was playing on the radio, I thought they were singing <em>pop some caps</em>.”</p><p>Toni laughs. “No way, I thought the same thing.”</p><p>“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”</p><p>She turns right away. “When would I ever do that?”</p><p>Her face is tan and just a little bit sweaty from the heat, her smile teasing, eyes bright. You want her to keep looking at you like this. You want her to look at you all the time.</p><p>“True.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she goes on. “I didn’t know until I got sent into the principal’s office for singing a song about armed robbery.”</p><p>The sound of your joint laughter is cut short by the snapping of a branch.</p><p>You instantly straighten up. “Did you hear that?”</p><p>“Yeah, that could be our mark,” Toni says, lowering her voice.</p><p>She walks on, more quietly than before, and then—</p><p>When she pulls back the branches for you to pass by her, it feels like your heart skips a complete beat. With your breath cut short in your throat, the unexpected gesture anchors itself right between your ribs with a heat that has nothing to do with the sun.</p><p>“Thanks,” you say, a little hoarse.</p><p>Toni’s expression is soft. So much softness, so often masked by attitude. It feels like the island is stripping everything away between the two of you. Like you can see everything more clearly, feel everything more sharply.</p><p>Her eyes have the color of burnt sugar in this light. You can feel the warmth of her body as you step around her on the small path, and silently, without her noticing, you think, again: <em>thanks</em>.</p><p>To the island, to God, to her—you’re not sure.</p><p>:::</p><p>Martha scares the goat away and as you hurry after it, it takes a moment for Toni to catch up with you.</p><p>You weren’t sure she actually would. Part of you figured she would stay with Martha, but instead, she finds you again.</p><p>Unfortunately, you’ve completely lost sight of the goat, though, and now you’re more or less starting to get lost in a part of the forest that you certainly haven’t explored before.</p><p>You feel a bit bad about what happened. Martha, and Toni, and you. New lines of tension, different from how they were when you had that fight during the shelter-building contest.</p><p>It’s taken you a while, but in the days after the plane flew over, while everyone else’s thoughts have only gotten foggier and yours, by contrast — in the face of no rescue — surprisingly clear, you’ve wondered what it must have been like for Toni to watch Martha turn to you in those first days of the crash.</p><p>It can’t have been very easy for her to watch the only person she truly cares about drift to someone else in the middle of a crisis. To feel the only friendship that matters to her become so tense and complex with the presence of a third person.</p><p>Someone she didn’t ask for at all.</p><p>Someone who then proceeded to make things even worse.</p><p>You watch her climb up the path, higher and higher, and you want to ask her about all of this, but at the same time, whatever new equilibrium seems to exist between the two of you now still feels very fragile and undefined. You’ve got your head full of questions and doubts and fears, and you’re not sure if you’re ready.</p><p>So, in the end, you settle on something else. “Do you think Martha’s gonna be okay?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Toni says, panting lightly. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She turns a corner, hand on one of the trees to steady herself. “This place, like, makes you face your demons or something, and it turns out your demons are really fucking ugly.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you say, a bit of resignation to your voice, because she’s right.</p><p><em>Damage, </em>Leah would say.</p><p>These things done to you, instead of done by you.</p><p>Toni pauses, turns. “No, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean yours, I just meant, like, everybody’s.”</p><p>It almost sounds like an apology and that’s the last you need from her.</p><p>“I know,” you say, watching her face, thinking that maybe this is it.</p><p>That this is your way in, your shot at being brave, at being honest; to speak about whatever she deserves to hear from you, all the things you’ve kept unsaid.</p><p>But then, Toni’s hand brushes your arm and she’s looking ahead at something you haven’t noticed yet.</p><p>Her fingers, hot and smooth against your bicep. “No fucking way.”</p><p>:::</p><p>The Bible speaks in hyperbole.</p><p>All your life, you have been spoken at by people who have gone out of their ways to convince you that whatever part of it they were teaching you, whatever lesson they were presenting you with, was most important, most accurate, most Christian.</p><p>Isaiah 9:6. <em>For to us a child is born, to us a son is given. </em>Taught to you as most fundamental. John 14:6. <em>Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me</em>. Taught to you as most factual. The Proverbs 3: 5-6. <em>Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. </em>Taught to you as most faithful, as pure goodness, as everything you should aspire to be.</p><p>But here, in the clearing with the lychee tree, the only element of your belief that feels more true than anything else, is that if God truly hated you, if God truly believed you sinful and evil and monstrous, you would not get to have this.</p><p>Here, with the juice of the lychees on your tongue, you think about something much simpler than anything written in the Bible: <em>you are seventeen years old and sometimes you’re allowed to feel good</em>.</p><p>Not everything is about punishment.</p><p>Some things are soft and sweet and exciting—and you’re given permission to feel that way.</p><p>You’re giving yourself permission to feel that way.</p><p>“This is the best thing ever.”</p><p>Both of you are giddy with relief.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Toni says, sucking the flesh of the lychee right into her mouth.</p><p>It drips across your fingers, across your chin. Your mouth feels more sugary than it has in days, the taste of it almost overwhelming. Some of the juice runs down your wrist and you’ve got half the mind to lick your tongue all over your arm, sand and dirt and all—so hungry, so greedy, suddenly.</p><p>Toni laughs, the sound of it making you feel even better. She turns to look at you, peeling yet another lychee. “If we end up hurling after this, it will still be worth it.”</p><p>“Amen.”</p><p>It feels like grace. It feels like you’re back in your own body, like you are the one who decides what you believe in. What you <em>want </em>to believe in. It feels like all of your courage is running back into your veins.</p><p>Toni looks so happy and unguarded and <em>pretty</em>. It drives you almost as delirious as the sudden sugar rush from the fruit.</p><p>She’s staring at you, then laughs.</p><p>“What? What’s funny?”</p><p>Toni runs the back of her hand across her mouth, smiling widely. “You’ve, uh—you’ve just got, uh—”</p><p>She bites on her bottom lip, chuckles a bit, and something tightens in your stomach as she steps closer, hand already reaching up.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>When her thumb brushes across your jaw, the heat in your stomach rises like a flame. The space suddenly feels tight; everything close. Her hand trembles a bit and it makes adrenaline spread through your entire body, both of you locked into the same tension at the same time, almost accidentally.</p><p>You’ve moved closer to her before you’ve realized it.</p><p>There are specks of lighter brown in the dark of her eyes, stunning in a way you’ve never noticed quite so clearly before. It makes you breathless; how she’s letting you look at her, really look at her; how much you can’t seem to stop.</p><p>Toni’s breathing is just the slightest bit uneven and her expression changes, goes from amused to hesitant, and then to a mix of emotion that is both daring and questioning, challenging and wondering.</p><p>You fumble with your hair, swallow hard.</p><p><em>It’s not that difficult</em>, you think. <em>Just</em> <em>kiss her.</em></p><p>But the moment stretches, fills everything inside of you with dizzying anticipation. Something softens in Toni’s expression, and it hits you so clearly: how <em>good </em>she is. How she’s giving you the entire length of this moment. So much attraction and so much space at the same time. Patiently waiting to see what happens, while the way she wants it radiates off of her so strongly that you feel it like your own desire.   </p><p>It’s that exact realization that makes you step forward, makes you reach up to cup her face in your hands, and slowly, intentionally, kiss her.</p><p>She’s soft against you, softer than you remember.</p><p>Her mouth presses back against yours. Nothing but the feeling of her kiss, the sweet taste of her lips.</p><p>It’s slow and gentle.</p><p>You feel Toni tremble against you, right before she pulls back to look at you. Her throat bobs with the effort to swallow, and then she says, “Are you sure?”</p><p>There’s something about a second kiss, you think. Something you only realize now. A first kiss can be an accident, can be explained away by whatever; lust or alcohol or bad judgment. You can laugh it away, can lie it away, can block it completely from your memory and pretend it never even happened.</p><p>But a second kiss—that’s when there’s no space for anything to be accidental. That’s when, in a way, it really only happens for the first time.</p><p>It’s the most thrilling, most perfect thing to watch her like this.</p><p>You hold her gaze, letting all of the purpose of it spill out between you, and then, you close the gap and kiss her again. It’s needier than before. You want to pull on her, want to close every last bit of space between your bodies, but first—</p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p>Your voice is hoarse. Toni’s mouth twitches into the lightest of smiles.</p><p>And then—</p><p>Only then, does she touch you. Hands sliding up your neck, her weight shifting forward and into you; and just like that, everything collides and she kisses you back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:</p><p>How was that? Your response to this fic has been so fucking inspiring and encouraging! I couldn't be more grateful. I feel like I'm definitely pushing my own boundaries as a writer and I always love hearing about any lines or parts that stood out, so let me know in the comments if that was the case. Next chapter will, of course, be Shelby's pov on their first time. </p><p>If anyone is interested, I made a spotify playlist for this fic with songs that make me think of them: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4IRLuzBQRPdmXoeHmQEAhp?si=RteJE9eZQeWjUtrfBBqLZw</p><p>Also, if anyone wants to talk, hmu on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: there was only ever going to be one way I was going to write this scene and that, apparently, is in 10.000 words.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somewhere in the future, is a moment when she’ll ask you.</p><p>It’ll be over coffee, early in the morning, in an apartment that will still feel a little too new for you to be completely comfortable in. But even so, it’s yours. Bought with money from the lawsuit settlement. A way out of your parents’ home. A way out of Texas. A way out of your trauma, so to say—though, it lingers, of course.</p><p>Lingers, like the island, though that’s a different story.</p><p>She’ll ask you, leaning against your kitchen counter, wavy curls falling down her shoulders, messy and beautiful. Dressed in an old, soft pink t-shirt that you used to wear for high school cheerleading. She’s pulled it from the back of your closet like it’s no big deal, and you love when she’s unselfconscious like this. Love when she’s so obvious about how much she wants to look at you; still sleepy but letting her gaze drift up and down the length of your bare thighs like she could do it all day.</p><p>She’ll ask you, playing with your fingers in a way that’s distracting you just a little too much from making breakfast.</p><p>
  <em>When did you know? </em>
</p><p>You’ll deflect first, firing the question back at her, buying yourself a little bit of time to formulate an answer. And Toni will just smirk at you and say, “I mean, I’m not a fucking idiot. I always knew girls were hot.”</p><p>You will roll your eyes and kick her ankle because she isn’t <em>wrong, </em>but—</p><p>She’ll soften, then, pulling you into her, just a bit, hand on your hip. “I just mean, I don’t remember any different. Like, I just never really thought about boys, ever, you know?”</p><p>“And?” you press.</p><p>Toni hooks her pinky finger around yours. “And then one day, this girl called Brooke on my middle school team kissed me after I beat her at three-pointers, and that was it. That’s when I knew.”</p><p>You nod.</p><p>You think about Eve, about being seven years old, with your knees on the chair and your daddy’s Bible open in front of you. You think about realizing — before you even realized anything about girls or hunger — that some things weren’t for you to have, no matter how much you wanted them.</p><p>For you, that’s what came first; the story cut short before it even started.</p><p>But, even so.</p><p>Toni will be standing in <em>your</em> kitchen, wearing one of <em>your</em> t-shirts and drinking <em>your</em> coffee, and it’s a thing you didn’t think you’d ever have, and yet, you got to have it, anyway.</p><p>She’ll look at you like she has been doing since the moment you’ve known her—with her attention all over you—and slowly, you’ll begin tell her.</p><p>:::</p><p>It starts with Eve.</p><p>It starts with questions.</p><p>But then there’s Mara, your babysitter, who starts coming over when you’re nine years old, on Saturdays when your parents go out for dinner together. She’s got long curls and pretty eyelashes and you like her so much that you can’t wait to grow up and be exactly like her one day.</p><p>Mara wears her hair in a high ponytail sometimes, so you wear your hair in a ponytail. Mara likes peppermint chewing gum more than raspberry, so you like peppermint chewing gum more than raspberry. Mara tells you that what she likes best about the Bible are the angels; how they live for eternity, how they are intelligent and beautiful, how some of them have six wings each.</p><p>She tells you that angels don’t ever have to marry, which seems a strange thing to like. But Mara says, “No one has to belong to anybody else if they don’t want to, and that’s why I like the angels.”</p><p>You draw those angels, the seraphim, together one night — six wings each! — but your daddy frowns at the drawing when he sees it the next morning. He says that you’re not supposed to worship angels, only God. The Bible tells you so, apparently, in Revelation 19:10, and then he asks your mother when she’s last seen Mara in church.</p><p>The way you learn religion is your father’s way, and anyone who has different ideas, even when they’re still Christian ideas, is wrong.</p><p>You decide it’s best not to tell him that sometimes when you pray at night, you wish for more nights with Mara. You wish for her to come over not only on Saturday, but also on Sunday and Monday, and the whole week, actually.</p><p>You like watching movies with Mara when she’s put Spencer and Melody to bed. You like when she tells you about high school. When she tells you about her friends and her teachers and about being able to drive anywhere she likes. You like when she hugs you and kisses your forehead good night. Her hair smells like lemon and you always want to breathe in deeper when she’s this close.</p><p>There’s no clear beginning.</p><p>Sometimes you feel a weird fluttery feeling in your stomach when Mara smiles at you and you don’t know what it is. It’s too inconsequential to even fully register it.</p><p>But then, you get a little bit older, and the feeling starts to take a bit more shape.</p><p>:::</p><p>The first time you think about what kissing must be like, you’re at Gwendolyn Thompson’s twelfth birthday party for a sleepover and she proudly confesses that earlier, when the boys were still there, she kissed Ryan Carrera in the swimming pool. On the mouth.</p><p>There’s a chorus of giggles and the tension rises and you feel a blush come to your cheeks. You can’t picture any boy you’d like to kiss.</p><p>“How was it?” one of the girls is saying. “What was it like?”</p><p>Gwen smiles proudly, running a hand through her hair. All of you are tan and buzzing with energy from eating too much sugar. The summer has made Gwen’s freckles look like tiny stars.</p><p>“Weird,” she says, grinning, and then, “Good, I think. Fun.”</p><p>Her eyes land on you for a second, amber irises beautiful and deep—and, just like that, something feels hot and tense in your stomach. You glance down, a weird sort of pull behind your navel. And then your eyes flick up again, flick to Gwen’s mouth and for a moment you wonder what it would feel like to press your lips to someone else’s, to press your lips to hers.</p><p>This is a feeling that stays.</p><p>A month later, when Gwen comes over for a sleepover, the two of you share your new bed. Her fingers are intertwined with yours for the entire night, and you don’t get any sleep. All you think about is the fact that she is holding your hand.</p><p>Becca sleeps over at your place all the time, but she doesn’t hold your hand, not in this way, and it’s confusing.</p><p>Gwen says Ryan is her boyfriend now, and late at night, whenever you can’t sleep — when you find yourself wishing she was there to breathe sleepily into your pillow and hold your hand under the covers — you try to pick a boy from your class who could be your boyfriend, but you can’t think of anyone.</p><p>Andrew Adams wrote you a Valentine’s note last month that said he thinks you’re pretty, but you didn’t write him back.    </p><p>It’s confusing.</p><p>The only person you think is pretty, is Gwen.</p><p>:::</p><p>In Bible study, you learn about sex. You learn about marriage. One man and one woman, joined together before God. You will save yourself for marriage. You will save yourself for a good Christian husband.  </p><p>In Bible study, you learn scripture.</p><p>But you learn promise from your mother.</p><p>She’s patient with you. Somehow, instinctively, she seems to know that you don’t like the topic very much, that you don’t want to speak about sex or marriage. But there are things she wants you to know, and so she teaches you; in quiet moments, away from your father, running a hand through your hair, calling you her baby.</p><p>She tells you sex is special, that it’s an expression of love. She tells you that saving yourself for marriage is not because there’s anything wrong or bad about sex, but because it’s unique and beautiful, and only someone you truly love is worthy of it.</p><p>“You only have one chance, Shelb,” she says. “There’s only one boy you can give your virginity to. And I’d like that boy to be the boy you marry. It’s the most beautiful gift, baby. A real beautiful promise.”</p><p>The thing is, you think you wouldn’t mind talking about sex, if you had any real conception of it, any real desire to one day actually have sex. But the truth is that you don’t.</p><p>You’re fourteen years old and sex education in school is mechanic and embarrassing, and you have no idea why any of it should even be appealing in the first place. Andrew kissed you once after a football game and it wasn’t anything special.</p><p>Still, you can sense what is expected of you—have a good feeling for knowing how to act in front of other people—and you manage to go along with it nicely enough. You joke with the girls, dress up for games and wave at the college guys you run into, eagerly deciding which one you would marry later.</p><p>It’s fun enough.  </p><p>Your life gets busy with pageants and busy with cheer, and somehow this comes easy to you, too. The lightness of it, the pretty shine that you can drape across every single element of your life.</p><p>It’s a good thing to focus on. A steady wall you’re building; big and solid enough to distract you from the confusing thoughts that enter your mind once in a while. Like how beautiful some of the other pageant girls look in their ballgowns. Like how, the other day, before the show, Lisa Caldwell had leaned forward to apply your lipstick for you, and you had shivered when her breath hit your lips.</p><p>This, you decide, is the stuff that no one needs to know about.</p><p>No one needs to know that sometimes when you close your eyes before you fall asleep, your mind drifts to Mara, your old babysitter, and you wonder what she’s doing, if she’s in college now. If she would like you. If she even remembers you.  </p><p>No one needs to know that you count the seconds you’ll allow yourself to look at the girls changing in and out of their cheer uniforms. How carefully you can divide time into <em>one, two</em>, <em>stop. </em>How good you are at making sure you force your eyes away from a bare shoulder, a white bra strap, before anyone notices. </p><p>No one needs to know how much you’ve started to enjoy spending time with Becca.</p><p>:::</p><p>At Bible study, you learn about being nice, about being good.</p><p>But at night, the basement of the church fades away into nothingness, and something else replaces it; a buzzing sort of tension that sometimes seems to overtake your body.</p><p>Some of your friends talk about pleasure like it’s the easiest thing in the world, but to you, it feels dangerous. The way you can’t exactly control your thoughts. The way you want it, but feel conflicted over it, too. You have never been taught anything about girls allowing themselves to feel good in this way. You’ve never been taught <em>anything </em>about desire, really.      </p><p>Andrew is a good enough kisser, now that you do it a lot more often than before, but it’s not his mouth your mind drifts to in these moments.</p><p>Instead, it’s slivers of memories, hints of fantasy.</p><p>You focus on the thought of Andrew touching you and it <em>never </em>works. Instead, your mind skips. To the thought of Gwen’s hand in yours all those years ago. To the feeling of Becca’s body against yours every time you hug. To a scene from a movie you saw the other day when your parents were out and your siblings had gone to bed: a woman pressing another woman up against a fence, kissing her, running her hands through her hair and—</p><p>Soft lips, soft skin. Pretty girls with long curls and dark eyes. This is what you think about with your fingers between your legs, with your body hidden away under the soapy water in the bath. Every time, you swear to yourself it’s the last time, and every time, it’s not.  </p><p>There’s no moment.</p><p>No real first time you realize that you like girls.</p><p>All you know is that when you kiss Becca, in your yellow dress on the floor of your bedroom, for one second, it feels exactly right. For one maddening, blissful second, you feel more yourself than any other time in your entire life.</p><p>It’s good, so good—and then it isn’t.</p><p>Then, everything that felt good about it gets smashed to pieces.</p><p>:::</p><p>Wild desire in your chest, your stomach, your hips.</p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p>Toni reaches up to cup your face, to kiss you back, and her hands are trembling. Like she wants you as close as possible, but she’s also careful not to push you. To break you.</p><p>You press yourself harder into the kiss.</p><p><em>I’m sure, </em>you think, the heat of it working itself through your body. The sweet taste of her lips. The way your mouths feel, pressed together. <em>I’m sure. </em>And then, like a slow fever rising under your skin, you start to think, <em>touch me, touch me, please. </em>Never before have you felt it quite this sharply. </p><p>Toni’s hands drop to your waist and just that—just the feeling of her fingers pulling you closer—is enough to make your head go a little fuzzy. Before you really know what you’re doing, you’re fumbling with the hem of her top, pulling, hesitantly first, and then, more confidently.</p><p>She lets you.</p><p>She lets you drag the red sweaty thing right up and off her body, and you’ve got no idea what you’re doing, but she seems more than ready to let you go there. It’s like a spark of adrenaline. You’ve never taken another girl’s top off and now you have, and it’s addictive; to want it and then do it.</p><p>Toni’s wearing the same black sports bra that you couldn’t take your eyes off the other day, but you don’t give yourself a lot of time to look at it. You’re too focused on what the light does to the color of her eyes; too focused on the way her breath is a little shallow, just from kissing.</p><p>Too focused on taking your own top off, eager and fast, so you can cup her face and kiss her again.  </p><p>It deepens almost accidentally. She’s soft and warm against you, hand on your jaw, the other dropping to your hip, and one moment it’s just your lips on hers, and then, your tongue is flicking against her bottom lip, and Toni’s mouth parts under yours and—</p><p>
  <em>Lord.</em>
</p><p>Kissing Andrew never felt like this.</p><p>So instinctive, so intoxicating<em>. </em></p><p>In the back of your mind, you wonder if there should be steps between this—if there is a <em>right </em>way to do this, and if that right way maybe requires anything resembling patience. Anything other, perhaps, than this one-track feeling that’s currently coursing through your body and pushing you forward.</p><p>Fingers sliding into Toni’s ponytail, trying to get closer, to get more of her bare skin pressed against yours.</p><p>You don’t know if there’s a right way or not. All you know is that it feels so good to be kissing her, feels so good to feel her chest pressed against yours—and now that you’ve started, you don’t want to stop.</p><p>“I-is this okay?” she breathes out against your lips, and her voice is kind of quiet, like she’s searching for something more steady between you.</p><p>In response, you wind your arm around her neck and kiss her even harder. Toni hums against your lips and just that sound—that little noise of satisfaction, of pleasure—smooths out any lingering hesitation.</p><p>Her palm presses against the small of your back, the kiss turning a little wild, and you can’t help yourself. You push your hips forward, angling them into hers—</p><p>She makes another sound at the back of her throat, a little rougher, and everything inside of you goes tight with pleasure; her reaction to your touch dropping right between your legs, wet and hot and <em>needy</em>.</p><p>In response, your fingers thread through the mess of her hair, and Toni swears under her breath, her head tipping back. “<em>Fuck</em>...” </p><p>The skin of her neck tastes like salt and sand and lychee juice and you run your mouth right over it, kissing down her pulse, not knowing what has come over you, only that you want to feel her <em>react</em> to you like that again and again and again.  </p><p>It’s so new.</p><p>All of it is so new. So shaky. So good.</p><p>For weeks, you’ve been holding yourself to a certain standard of composure when it comes to her. Forcing yourself to be good, to block out your attraction, to keep your desire under control.</p><p>And now—</p><p>You don’t want to be composed.</p><p>You want to her to feel exactly what she’s doing to you; every shaky, heated part of it.</p><p>“God... Toni...”</p><p>Her fingers dig into your hip, <em>hard, </em>at the sound of her own name falling from your lips, and this is crazy.</p><p>The whole thing is crazy.</p><p>Your inexperience mixing with the control you seem to hold over her reaction; how the scrape of your teeth over her skin makes her gasp; how your hand on her stomach seems to drive her crazy.</p><p>It’s making you lightheaded. All your firsts and how it doesn’t seem to matter that they’re firsts. Doesn’t seem to matter that you’ve never kissed your way down a girl’s neck before, because it makes her body hum like this. Doesn’t seem to matter that you don’t know how to take a girl’s bra off, because your fingers are already halfway up her ribs. </p><p>Now that you’re not holding back, you can’t seem to go slow. Can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into her back, to pull her closer against you. It’s desperate and messy, and something is changing, something in the way Toni’s breath has started to hitch, the way she has started to feel a bit more rigid against you—</p><p>You want her closer, want her so much, want—</p><p>“We can stop,” she pants out against your mouth. “If you want.”</p><p>Everything inside of you goes cold, just like that.</p><p>All the heat between you dissolving into thin air.</p><p>For a moment, everything between you seems to be suspended, and then you step back, creating space. Your heartbeat out of control, all your defenses rising up from the ground.</p><p>Something sharp and painful pricks at the back of your throat.</p><p>Of course—<em>of course</em>—you would find a way to fuck it up. Of course it was going to break. Of course, every single time you give in to your pleasure, the whip comes crashing down.</p><p>If it’s not your Lord, then it’s your father.</p><p>If it’s not your father, then it’s Becca, then it’s Toni.</p><p>Here to remind you that you don’t deserve any of this, that it’s <em>wrong, </em>that it’s a sin. That what you’re trying is so bad that even girls who are actually gay don’t want to kiss you, or touch you, or—</p><p>“Look.” Your voice is shaking. “If I’m doing it wrong—”</p><p>You try to force the words out. You try to say, <em>just say so, </em>but the emotion catches up, the ache in your throat so sharp that you don’t want to give in.</p><p>Toni’s eyes go wide. “W-what?”</p><p>You can’t look at her like this, not if she wants to be cruel about it.</p><p>“You’ve made your point, okay,” you manage to get out. “I’m getting the hint. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m really that fucking bad at it or if you’re just bored or—” You bite down on your bottom lip, and then it comes crashing through, both the realization that you actually wanted to and that you’re not going to have it, all at the same time. “Do you really not want to?”</p><p>She’s frowning, confusion all over her face. “Want to what?”</p><p>“Have sex with me,” you snap.</p><p>Toni actually stumbles back a bit, her whole expression shifting, and you feel miles away from where you were a minute ago, feel like you’re more exposed than you’ve ever been in your whole life—</p><p>“Sex?” Toni says, incredulously.</p><p>It knocks the breath from your lungs. How <em>wrong </em>you were about this.</p><p>“Forget about it.” Your voice goes hard, because <em>Jesus, </em>just because you deserve it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Toni steps forward and before she can come close, you bite out, “You probably have, like, dozens of girls to fuck, back in Minnesota, and I’m just some Jesus-obsessed—”</p><p>“<em>Shelby.</em>”</p><p>She has only looked at you like this once, six days ago. When you were on the beach and you were trying to figure out if she told Martha. When you accused her of being ashamed.</p><p>She’s only looked at you like this once; like you’re out of your fucking mind for thinking what you’re thinking.</p><p>“Of course I...” She exhales hard. “Of course I want to. God, I just... I didn’t know you wanted that.”</p><p>It takes a second for the words to register. For the implication to push its way through the barrier of your insecurity. For you to finally notice that she’s blushing, too. That she looks just as affected as you feel.</p><p>“Because I wasn’t doing it right?” you say, faintly.</p><p>“No,” Toni says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “Because... Because it’s not...” She runs a thumb over her brow. “Because I figured you wouldn’t want to with, with me. Because of the whole—” Her eyes lock on yours and she waves her hand. “—marriage thing.”</p><p>It’s not until she says it that the dots connect. That wanting to have sex with her means... that it would mean...</p><p>“Oh,” you say, voice suddenly a bit hoarse. “Right.”</p><p>That’s—</p><p>God.</p><p>You didn’t even think about it.</p><p>Toni shifts her weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable and blushing. Your eyes meet hers and she doesn’t have to say it, for you to read it now, in her expression. She wasn’t pushing away from you because you were doing anything wrong, wasn’t pushing away from you because she doesn’t want to.</p><p>She was respecting your boundaries.</p><p>Boundaries that <em>you </em>should care about.</p><p>There’s a pinch of shame in your chest, confliction taking over, because it had felt so good, so <em>good</em>, but Toni’s right, and you can hear your mother’s voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that you can only do this once, that it’s a promise, a promise you decided to made.</p><p>But did you? Did you decide?</p><p>And suddenly you’re back in Bible study, with your questions, with all of the things that don’t make sense, that no one able to find any answers for you. Because if it’s supposed to be so beautiful, if it’s about connection, if it feels <em>this </em>good just to be kissing someone you want to be kissing—</p><p>Then why would God—</p><p>Then why is it a sin to—</p><p>“Hey...” Toni steps forward, effectively breaking through your spiraling thoughts. She reaches forward, almost shyly, and brushes her fingers against your wrist. “I’m sorry,” she says. “If you thought I didn’t want to. I... I really do want to. And you’re, actually, like—like, <em>insanely</em> good at... at, um...”</p><p>She clears her throat.</p><p>Your mind is spinning, but this...</p><p>“At what?” you hear yourself say, and Toni looks flushed.</p><p>You don’t think you’ll get enough of that; the little spark of satisfaction, the way you can get her to blush.</p><p>“You <em>kno</em>w,” she says, eyes dropping to your lips for a second, before snapping up, like she’s trying to be considerate, trying to ignore the way the air buzzes with something like tension again. “Kissing, and... and...”</p><p>You can’t stop your smile. “Is that so?”</p><p>Toni makes a tiny sound of frustration and you <em>revel </em>in it.</p><p>Revel, also, in the way she can soften your panic just by meeting your eyes, touching the inside of your wrist, carefully allowing you to see her back, to let you see that you are not the only one exposed here.</p><p>You step forward a bit, fingers resting against her elbow. It’s softer now, less accusatory, when you say, “It’s just that you kept pulling back...”</p><p>Toni swallows and you know she’s pushing her own vulnerability when she says, “I want to. Whatever you want, or don’t want. That’s really the only thing I care about. It’s all cool with me.”</p><p>She doesn’t know the weight of what she’s saying, you think.</p><p>She doesn’t know that a moment ago, you were questioning what it means to have agency over your own decisions, agency over what you choose for yourself. She doesn’t know that no one, in your whole life, has ever given you full control of the reins for something. Not your church, not your parents, not your <em>boyfriend.  </em></p><p>You think about how, again and again, you have been scared to be punished for wanting what you want, and instead, it feels like your God—or whatever your God is; whether it’s your island, or these girls, or your own clear-thinking mind—has been waiting to give you this, instead.</p><p>This moment.</p><p>This decision.</p><p>You don’t know how to tell her, but you try.</p><p>“I know it’s considered a sin. But what you said, that thing about expectations...” You run your hand down her arm, taking hold of her fingers, needing it to steady yourself. “I’m—I’m my own person, you know? And I know my relationship with God and what it means, and—” Your thoughts halt, again, for a moment on the realization that so many things about the rules you’re supposed to adhere to, don’t make sense. “And, technically, masturbation is also a sin—” Toni’s breath catches, and you didn’t meant to say it so casually, but... “And I’ve definitely done that, so.”</p><p>Her fingers tighten around yours and her flustered expression is worth every second of embarrassment over admitting this completely sober.</p><p>In fact—</p><p>It’s pretty hot.</p><p>“Many times actually.” You’re deliberate about it now, deliberate about closing some of this space between you, hand on her hip. Desire is a slow, delicious, daring thing. The way you can see it heat up in her eyes, the way you can feel it spread under your own skin. “I’ve touched myself many times. If you wanted to know.” </p><p>“<em>Shelby</em>.”</p><p>She sounds a little wrecked. It’s the most attractive thing in the world.</p><p>You’d think it would make you nervous, the way your arousal rises in your body so easily again. But if anything, it makes you feel more confident. To know it can overtake you again, even after pause, after reconsideration.  </p><p>Reminding you how good it feels to choose.  </p><p>Your mouth brushes against hers, just for a second, the briefest of touches, barely a kiss.</p><p>“And now...” you say slowly. “I want you to do it. I want you to touch me.” Another kiss. “So, will you please—”</p><p>Her mouth connects with yours, and it’s soft and light for all of one second, before Toni’s hand curls into your hair and your mouth opens, and it isn’t light anymore.</p><p>:::</p><p>Things become blurry, then, one moment tipping into the next, one touch leading to another. It’s all a bit desperate and a bit uncoordinated, the way you want her; her hand pressed against the front of your bra, her mouth on the skin of your neck.</p><p>She dances her fingers over your pink sports bra, kisses your throat so lightly that it makes you squirm. Somehow, after a few hesitant attempts, she smirks at you and you finally manage to get her bra off and on the forest floor—and then, you feel speechless for a second.</p><p>Both of you are sunburnt and sweaty and covered in dust, but this—</p><p>This is the most turned on you’ve felt in your entire life.</p><p>“God,” you breathe out, as you look at her.</p><p>Toni makes a strangled sort of sound, half laugh, half something else. “Is that good or bad?”</p><p>You can’t believe she’s asking. You lean down, kiss her collarbone, try not to rush how much you want your mouth lower, how much you’ve been thinking about this, how much you want—</p><p>“Beautiful,” you breathe into her skin. “God, Toni.”</p><p>Her fingers slide up to your neck, and she wants to kiss you again, and that—the way she wants to be as close to you as you want to be to her—is what makes you pull her down to the ground.</p><p>For a minute or so, it’s a bit awkward, figuring out how to position yourself. But then Toni’s legs bracket your hips and she’s in your lap, and it feels so thrilling you don’t care about any awkwardness.</p><p>When you kiss, this time, it feels much more intimate than before.</p><p>So much closer to the ground, to lying down. So much closer to each other.</p><p>You touch your fingers to the skin of Toni’s throat and then you let them drift lower, across her collarbone, until you’re cupping her softly, shyly. You’re trying to be cool about it, but it takes a second.</p><p>She’s so fucking soft and warm against the palm of your hand. First, it’s just the inside of your hand against her nipple, but she shifts forward, and you’re about to ask her if this is okay when your thumb strokes right across it, and Toni makes a sound you haven’t heard her make before.</p><p>A strained whimper, almost like a moan.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>You do it again, and then you do it with your mouth back on hers, and suddenly it’s not so intimidating, to touch her like this. Suddenly, you can’t help but press your palm more fully against her, wanting to hear more. Toni swears softly under her breath and rocks her hips down, angles forward into your kiss, like she can’t stop it. The thought that maybe she’s as turned on as you are, makes you flushed all over.   </p><p>Her nails drag over your ribs, fingers hooking into the fabric of your pink top before you fully register it. “Can I?”</p><p>She wants it off.</p><p>She wants to see you naked and, though you feel a little sensitive, you’re not scared. “Y-yeah.”</p><p>She pulls slowly, carefully, giving you moment after moment to still say <em>no</em>, but you don’t. You let her undress you, let her take another layer off, arousal pulling tight behind your navel.</p><p>“Fuck...” Her eyes go wide, almost like she didn’t mean to swear out loud, and you know you’re blushing under her gaze.</p><p>It’s impossible not to catch the heat in her expression as she takes you in.</p><p>You’re used to people looking at you. Used to people judging you, examining your measurements, observing every inch of your body like it belongs to them, and on some abstract level, you feel objectively confident about it—but everything about being looked at like you’re being looked at now, is different.</p><p>It’s the opposite of pageantry. The opposite of performance.</p><p>“Shelby...” Toni says, voice a little rough. “Oh my god—just... God.”</p><p>She’s beautifully incoherent. It makes goosebumps rise on your skin, shivers that only increase as she trails slow fingers down your shoulder.</p><p>“Is that good or bad?” you try.</p><p>She tips your chip up, kisses you hard, and just like that, it’s like the last bit of your act drops away. Every last layer of disguise, of masquerade. You want her to see you exactly as you are, as much as you can show it. </p><p>“Good,” she whispers against your lips. “So, so good.”</p><p>She shifts her weight forward and you’re thinking, <em>if you want me, you can have me.</em></p><p>It’s as much a confession as it is a wish.</p><p>It’s as much atonement as it is prayer.   </p><p>The sudden clarity of it feels reckless, feels holy, feels inevitable. How much, if you’re going to break your promise, you want to be breaking it like this. You want to break it feeling seen. Feeling shaky and honest and brave. Feeling more like yourself than you’ve ever felt before.</p><p>If you’re going to break it, you want to break it like this. Right now. With her.</p><p>You toe your sandals off, and then, because Toni is just staring at you kind of wide-eyed, you begin untying her Vans, too. Her mouth parts, like she’s only realizing now how serious you are about this. It makes you feel a little giddy. Not just turned on and excited, but a little lightheaded on how all your weighs are falling away. How much you’re enjoying watching the emotion play out on her face.</p><p>You let her kick off her shoes, and then you wrap your arm around her neck, pulling her down on top of you.</p><p>The feeling of her bare skin against yours, warm and smooth, despite the sand and the twigs and the dirt, nearly drives you out of your mind. You fumble a bit, hands drifting mindlessly from her face, to her hips, to her back, not sure how to do the rest of this. All you can focus on is how <em>hot </em>it is to feel Toni’s hips pressed down against yours, how her fingers keep going to the waistband your shorts, how her breath turns uneven when you kiss her jaw, her neck.</p><p>She feels electric against you; all twitchy energy and wild desire, and you’re pressing right back into it, all magnetism. Tangling your legs with hers, shifting your weight until she’s on her side, on her back, <em>under you</em>—</p><p>Leg sliding between hers—</p><p>“Fuck—” she swears. “Fuck, Shelby, <em>okay</em>.” </p><p>It’s breathless and strained and it takes you a second, takes you a moment to realize why she’s saying it. But when you shift your thigh, trying to create more space between you, Toni shudders against you, gasping.</p><p>Her hips can’t and she swears again, her ankle hooking right around your calf to keep your thigh in place, right between her legs.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Lord. </em>
</p><p>You push your thigh up just an inch and Toni’s whole body responds to it.  Heat runs wild under your skin at the sight of her; head tipped back, fingers digging into your biceps.</p><p>“Feels kinda familiar, doesn’t it?” you say, unable to hold off on the teasing tone. </p><p>Toni swallows thickly. “What?”</p><p>You kiss the breath from her lungs for a moment. “Me on top of you.”</p><p>Toni nearly groans. “Last time was less fun.”</p><p>Her hand has fallen to your hip and you don’t think she’s even aware of the way she’s squeezing it, the way she’s letting you know just how badly she needs you to move your leg.</p><p>You give into it.</p><p>You give into all of it.</p><p>She’s hot and dizzying against you, and you say something teasing—something like <em>oh, you’re having fun?</em>—and for a second you think all the control belongs to you, but then Toni takes it right back, says something so hot and flirty that it forces you to press your own thighs together just to relieve some of the tension: “Maybe you should feel how much.”</p><p>:::</p><p>You need her to do this next part with you. For all your bravery, you need her to help you a bit because...  </p><p>“Are you—”</p><p>“Yes, I’m sure, Toni.”</p><p>She takes her leggings off. They’re tight and you have to move out of the way for a moment to let her pull them down.</p><p>Your breath catches in the back of your throat.</p><p>Her underwear is black and lacy and probably not even hers, but none of it matters, because <em>fuck.</em></p><p>Your throat feels dry, and then, your hand, trembling a little, touches her stomach, and Toni sucks in a breath. Your palm is warm and a little bit clammy, though she doesn’t seem to mind; her abs jumping up against the lightness of your touch. Your pinkie finger brushes against the edge of her panties, and your heartbeat stutters.</p><p>You feel equal parts exhilarated and out of your depth here.</p><p>“Should I take ‘em off?”</p><p>Your face heats up at Toni’s question, and you falter for a bit, the implication so hot and heavy that it tightens something in your body in a way that’s a bit uncomfortable, despite how much you want this.</p><p>Something in her expression catches on because she backtracks instantly, almost like she realizes how much you struggle to voice an answer to the question.  </p><p>Instead, she reaches for your hand, takes it gently. Her palm is a little bit sweaty, too, which makes you feel a million times better.</p><p>Still, you feel like you need to say something, need to keep yourself safe from her disappointment.</p><p>“Tell me,” you start, unsure. “If it’s—if it’s not—”</p><p><em>Good, </em>you want to say.</p><p>
  <em>Tell me if it’s not working. If I’m doing it wrong. If I’m not good enough at any of this.</em>
</p><p>Toni’s fingers tighten around yours, and she makes a scoffing sort of sound, like <em>there’s no way</em>, which rushes a wave of attraction and reassurance through your body, a feeling that only amplifies when she breathes out, “I’m so turned on... Really, Shelby, I’m <em>so...</em>” Her breath catches and you lower your head to the space between her neck and her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss into her skin. “...into this.”</p><p>It steadies you enough.</p><p>Since the moment you’ve known her, this is what you’ve been best at; trading your consideration back and forth, trading your focus back and forth. The whole thing an effortless exchange of attention and control.</p><p>It works for arguing, and it works for <em>this, </em>apparently.</p><p>Your fingers are trembling slightly, but you slide them lower, under the fabric of her panties, and then—</p><p>You don’t know what you were expecting, but it’s different.</p><p>She is soft and hot against your fingertips. One of her knees is bent, her heel against the ground. The skin of her thigh warm against the side of your hand, almost feverish, and you can feel her breathing, can feel the way her fingers dig into your back, can feel every tiny jerk of her hips, and you never realized how <em>physical </em>this actually is.</p><p>Somehow, in your mind, whenever you imagined this—if you even got to this part, which wasn’t often, but still—you figured it would be more like tv. Music in the background, smooth skin and confident movements, candlelight, maybe.</p><p>Nothing like this: your shaking hands, the sun on your back, the smell of salt in the air. The earth all around you. The soft sounds of pleasure from Toni’s lips as you let your fingers play a bit.</p><p>
  <em>God.</em>
</p><p>You truly have no idea what you’re doing.   </p><p>With a bit of desperation, you force yourself to think, to drop into your desire and remember how you like to touch yourself.</p><p>Your fingers dip a bit lower, and Toni gasps. </p><p>You can feel how turned on she is, can feel that she’s slippery against the slow and experimental slide of your touch. In a way touching her feels like touching yourself; you can feel her in the same way you are wet between your own legs. But in a whole other way, touching her is entirely, beautifully, <em>wildly </em>different.</p><p>Her eyelids flutter, her chest rising up and down, but still, the only thing she seems concerned about is you.</p><p>“Are you good?” she breathes out. “Are you—”</p><p>You close the space and kiss her.</p><p>Just like before, when she was naked in your lap, everything softens with the feeling of her mouth on hers. Everything feels just a bit lighter, just a bit easier. You sink into the feeling, kissing all your feeling right into her mouth.</p><p>“God,” you whisper. “We’re really doing this.” </p><p>She nods, then kisses you again. It seems to anchor her as much as you. Slowly, some of the tension begins to release in your shoulders. Your press your fingers a little harder against her, and this time Toni arches into your touch.</p><p>She doesn’t rush it. She’s letting you this, as slowly as you need. She’s on her back, vulnerable and exposed, all her defenses down, and still, she’s letting you touch her. Because she wants you to have this, a way to feel good about your desire, a way to let go of your shame.</p><p>She wants you to decide what happens next and how it happens.</p><p><em>Whatever you want, </em>she’d said, like it was nothing. But you know she’s careful with her heart and not easy about letting people close, and all of a sudden you realize just how deep it runs: whatever she feels for you.</p><p>It makes you fall forward, makes you wrap yourself closer around her, makes you say, breathless and a bit too honest, “You feel good.”</p><p>She makes a whimpered sort of noise, blushing. “<em>Shelby...</em>”</p><p>You want to learn every single thing about her. About this. You want to learn what makes her breathing jagged. What makes her nails dig into your skin. What makes her moan like that, the hoarse way her voice wraps around the syllables of your name. </p><p>You forget to think about it. You just touch her now.</p><p>“That’s—” Toni’s voice cuts off. “<em>Fuck—</em>keep doing that.”</p><p>Heat rocks through you and you circle your fingers again. She makes a sound, half moan, half gasp, and you feel such a rush of pleasure at the fact that she’s making it because of <em>you </em>that you lose your mind over it.</p><p>“Will you...” Your voice falters a bit. “Will you show me how...”</p><p>You can’t say it. Though you want to, you can’t say the words.</p><p>But Toni’s already nodding shakily, is already sliding her hand down her own stomach and covering yours, and she shows you. Shows you what she likes. Rhythm and pressure, how to make her hips stutter, how to make her feel even better.</p><p>You can’t stop rambling. All these things you need to tell her, every thought pushing itself forward. “God, Toni. You feel so good. So damn good. So hot and—”</p><p>She shudders against you, head tipped back, hips lifting up off the ground and rocking against your touch.</p><p>“Please,” she breathes out, then, so softly you almost don’t hear it. “Please, will you go...”</p><p>You inhale sharply, and then, as slowly and carefully as you can, you slide inside of her.</p><p>For a moment your fingers are still.</p><p>You watch her face, watch the way her expression changes, the way her mouth parts, a breath before she bites down on her bottom lip, all tightened pleasure.</p><p>When you begin to move your fingers slowly, Toni makes the softest sound. Her hand has dropped low to your back, stroking softly over your skin, and you feel like you’re falling into the feeling; the fact that, even now, she’s so focused on making you feel safe.    </p><p>“Fuck...” you breathe out. “This feels so good. Feels so good to touch you. You’re so—”</p><p>You press harder, move a bit faster, give in to the impulse.</p><p>Toni’s eyes screw shut and she goes tight around your fingers, once, twice, little waves. You press your mouth to her neck and she arches up of the ground, and then, without thinking about it, you kiss lower, kiss down her chest, close your lips over her nipple—</p><p>Her whole body tightens.</p><p>You’re so shocked by how it feels that you immediately withdraw your fingers and Toni makes a sound that’s just a bit frustrated, but then your fingers press against her and she shudders, and—</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>It feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before; your fingers wet, your mouth still against her chest, Toni trembling against you.</p><p>“Jesus, Shelby,” she breathes out, and then, “Do you say your prayers with that mouth...”</p><p>She’s trying to be light but her voice is wrecked and she’s not exactly meeting your eyes, and you know she doesn’t get <em>shy, </em>exactly, but there’s definitely something that’s just a little bit nervous about her.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>Toni laughs. “God, yes.”</p><p>She pushes herself up, runs a hand up your neck and then kisses you. It’s hot and deep and a little needy, but there’s an edge of panic to it, too. Something that solidifies in your chest as worry quickly enough.</p><p>“Are you really?” you say, pulling back from her. “You seem a little—” </p><p>She nods a little frantically, eyes down. “I’m fine. Really.”</p><p>But there’s something in her touch that is a little desperate, something that <em>pulls </em>on you, like she’s scared that maybe you will slip away.</p><p>And that’s when you realize.</p><p>You shift forward, making her look up at you as you say, “You know I’m right here, right? I’m not going to run away this time.”</p><p>She stares at you.</p><p><em>Leave before you’re left</em>.</p><p>She might not realize it, and you’ve only known her for little over three weeks, but you <em>know </em>her. You know what it’s like to be scared of your own demons. You know what it’s like to be trembling and exposed because someone is looking <em>that </em>closely at you. You’re doing it the same way to her as she’s doing it to you.  </p><p>You run your hand up her arm, to her cheek.</p><p>“I promise,” you add. “Right here.”</p><p>She swallows thickly and you want to kiss her, but instead, you have a different idea.</p><p>:::</p><p>The lychees taste just as good as they did before. Toni’s got a small smile on her face now as she watches you drop them down on the ground right in front of her.</p><p>“Don’t look so shocked,” you say, grinning. “We’re just taking a little break.”</p><p>“A break?”</p><p>The second she says it, you realize that you don’t actually <em>know </em>if this is a real thing or not, taking breaks. A hint of panic rises in your chest. Maybe it’s over. Maybe this was sex and it’s over and—</p><p>“Oh,” you hear yourself say. “I thought... Are we done already?”</p><p>“<em>No,</em>” Toni says. It’s rushed out and eager and settles your worry almost instantly. Even more so when she adds, with a bit of a blush, “No, I just—I didn’t want to assume...”</p><p>She trails off at the sight of your smile. You drop yourself to the ground again, and you’re still topless but you don’t really care, don’t feel shy about it anymore. In fact, you kind of like the way Toni can’t quite figure out where to look.</p><p>“Eat. Come on.”</p><p>You peel one of the lychees and hand it to her, but as she reaches out to take it, you pull it back just an inch. The heat of your own dare flips low in your stomach. Toni’s eyes darken, and then, she’s leaning forward, taking a hold of your wrist and biting into the fruit.</p><p>Her tongue flicks against your finger and you shiver.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, all your desire is back with full force.</p><p>“So good,” Toni’s mumbles against your fingertips, and you drop the lychee to the ground, kissing her hard.</p><p>She grins against your mouth. “Short break.”</p><p>You’ve got half the mind to tell her to shut up, but what comes out instead is, “Are you complaining?”</p><p>And then you kiss her again.</p><p>:::</p><p>From one moment to the next, one of Toni’s hands is at the back of your head, the other dropping to your ribs, and then you’re being pushed onto your back. The earth is dusty and there are twigs in the grass, but you don’t care. The feeling of her touch is the only thing you can focus on.</p><p>She feels so naked against you, so magnetic.</p><p>When her hand inches higher up your ribcage, you’re arching into it before you’ve made it a conscious decision. It’s like your body is finally just giving into all the impulses of being touched, of <em>wanting </em>to be touched.</p><p>“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” she breathes out, and you’ve heard it a million times, but never like this.</p><p>Never when you’re sweaty and trembling, with your hair a fucking mess. Never when it seems to be about so much more than just the way you look.</p><p>She pushes some of your hair back with so much attention that you’re blushing. Then, a slight crease appears between her eyebrows.</p><p>You can’t place it for a moment, but then Toni traces her finger over your temple and you know what she’s looking at. There’s a faint scratch there; the only thing that remains from when she smacked you with the branch on that first day.</p><p>She runs her finger, and then her mouth over it, softly, carefully, and as she kisses your temple, your jaw, your lips, the wild irrational thought enters your mind that you could fall in love with her.</p><p>It’s crazy.</p><p>You’ve only known her for three weeks. You’ve got a <em>boyfriend. </em></p><p>But the truth is you don’t.</p><p>That boy belongs to a completely different girl, to a different world, to your past somewhere across the ocean.</p><p>You slide your hand up into Toni’s hair and kiss her, and she moans into your mouth like she wants this just as much as you, and maybe for now, that’s the only thing that matters.</p><p>She runs her hand down over your stomach and you wonder if she touches other girls like this, wonder if she makes every single one of them fall in love with her right on the spot, because—</p><p>Her fingers still on the waistband of your shorts and any thought of other girls gets cleared right off your mind when Toni says, “Can I take these off you?”</p><p>Her bare thigh is right between yours, the pressure already driving you insane.</p><p>You nod breathlessly.</p><p>She fumbles with the buttons, manages one and then the other, but gets stuck on the third, her fingers useless as your mouth finds her neck and you flick your tongue against her pulse.</p><p>“Why are there, like, four?” she scoffs and the frustration makes you grin.</p><p>Makes you feel bold and reckless and <em>wanted. </em></p><p>“Christian contraception,” you say.</p><p>Toni’s expression is priceless.</p><p>“Oh my god,” she laughs.</p><p>It feels so <em>good </em>to make her look at you like this. Even better, when you push her hand away from your shorts, flick the buttons easily and Toni’s eyes go wide. You only feel self-conscious about your underwear for a second, only until Toni swears low under her breath, and all you want is her mouth on yours again.</p><p>For a moment, it’s just that, just kissing, both of you in your underwear. Toni’s clearly careful to take it slow, but her legs keep getting tangled with yours and her mouth is so hot that you can’t really keep it at this pace.</p><p>It makes you moan when she lowers her mouth to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin. Your chest arches up, and you’re saying <em>yes, </em>saying, <em>please, </em>not even knowing what it is you’re asking for or how to ask it exactly, just that you need her not to stop.</p><p>She kisses lower, drives you crazy with the tip of her tongue on your nipples, and—</p><p>
  <em>Jesus.</em>
</p><p>A feverish heat runs through your body as her leg slots between yours again, and this time, it’s deliberate, this time she’s flexing her thigh and making you—</p><p>“Oh, gosh,” you breathe out. “Oh, gosh, fuck, Toni...”</p><p>Your voice is a little pitchy and a lot breathless and your sentences are getting mingled, words and curses tripping over each other.   </p><p>“Is that good?” she says. “Do you want me to—”</p><p>You’re already rocking your hips up, wanting to feel her pressed against you, wanting her with such sharp desperation that you don’t know how to voice it. </p><p>She groans into your neck, and you don’t think you even <em>need </em>anything else, but then she says, “Can I touch you? Please?” and it sounds as desperate as you feel, as needy as the pressure that’s building inside of your own body.</p><p>You nod, and then her mouth is on your ribs again, hot kisses down your stomach, fingers digging into your hips.</p><p>The tip of her tongue slides over your bellybutton and—</p><p>Out of nowhere—</p><p>The memory of her mouth on those clams, how you’d felt shivery all over, how the only thing you could picture was her doing that between your—</p><p>She presses a kiss to the front of your underwear.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, <em>Toni</em>—”</p><p>It’s loud, louder than you’d meant, snapping you out of your daze just for a second.</p><p>Somewhere, in the back of your mind there’s a tiny sting of shame, a sharpness that is telling you to be careful, now. A voice you don’t recognize—a warped devilish mix of your mother’s and Becca’s and your own—saying that you made a promise and you’re breaking it.</p><p>That you’re pretty far gone already and this is how you snap the last piece of your purity.  </p><p>But then, there’s a different voice, too, layering it with reassurance, with clarity. One that, in its own way, also sounds like people you care about, though you didn’t know it a month ago.</p><p>It sounds like Toni, saying, <em>are you sure</em>, in more ways than one. Toni, looking at you with such attention that you’ve never felt anything like it.</p><p>It sounds like Dot, in the cave, when she saw you without teeth and managed to make you laugh about it, managed to make you feel safe.</p><p>It sounds like Fatin, reminding you that this is your body and you decide how to make it feel good, that there’s nothing sinful about wanting what you want.</p><p>Even Leah’s voice is laced in there, reminding you you’re not crazy for being scared or confused, that you’re not alone.</p><p>It sounds like Becca’s, too. Becca in a different life. A life where she’s still with you. Where she’s always going to be your best friend in the whole damn world. Where she doesn’t hate you for this, could never hate you. Becca’s voice, reminding you that she will gladly let you break any promise that is holding you back from behind yourself.</p><p>It <em>sounds </em>like yourself, you realize.</p><p>You were going to save yourself, but what were you going to save yourself for, if not this?</p><p>Toni is looking at you carefully, her brown eyes so beautiful in the light of the afternoon sun. “I can stop if you don’t want—”</p><p>“I want it,” you say, because it’s true. “Please... Just...”</p><p><em>Touch me, </em>you want to say. <em>Stay right here and help me out and touch me. </em> </p><p>Toni pulls your underwear down your leg.</p><p>You’d be self-conscious, maybe, any other time, about how you must look to her, about your weird tan lines, those three weeks without a razor, how you’ve never been this naked in front of anybody, but you feel the opposite.</p><p><em>I see you, </em>she’d said once and <em>this </em>is what you want on display for her: the way she can make you shiver just with her fingertips, how you’re so turned on you can barely keep your hips still, how you’re not sure of anything, but it feels like that’s okay.</p><p>“Please...” you breathe out, the anticipation killing you a little bit.</p><p>Toni’s hand finds yours somewhere on your hip, her fingers squeezing yours tightly.</p><p>She wants so badly to make this work for you; you can feel it in the way she lowers herself between your legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, almost like a question.</p><p>She might think God is a joke, but she knows what this means to you, knows the confliction of it. And she won’t do anything, unless you’re sure, which is why she’s letting you shift your hips to meet her. Making you realize how much you <em>want </em>it.</p><p>“Toni...” you breathe out. “God, I’m so...”</p><p>She presses another kiss to your thigh, and then her mouth is on you, wet and hungry, and you lose your mind.</p><p>:::</p><p>If you’d known it would be like this, you wouldn’t have hesitated.</p><p>Everything about it is completely addictive; her lips, the sounds she makes as you tremble against her, the fact that she doesn’t seem to be in any sort of rush. Like she’ll gladly spend the rest of the afternoon, just doing this.</p><p>You think you’re probably saying things out loud, think you must be talking, telling her how good it feels, your voice completely wrecked with pleasure, but you can’t string together a single coherent thought. Can’t focus on anything but what she’s doing with her mouth, how her fingers keep teasing through you at the same time.</p><p>She’s simultaneously loosening and winding you up, and you don’t know <em>how </em>that’s possible, only that it’s very much happening.</p><p>“That’s it,” she says, and your whole body responds to it. “God—”</p><p>It sounds like maybe she calls you <em>baby</em>, under her breath, and just like that, you can’t think anymore as the pleasure takes you under.</p><p>:::</p><p>She’s a little smug about it, afterwards. All proud little grins that you want to roll your eyes at, but it’s honestly kind of deserved.</p><p>“You don’t mind, do you? That I..”</p><p>You trail off. Toni is drawing mindless patterns with her nail over your hip, lying half on her back, half on her side next to you. “Hm?”</p><p>“That I didn’t—” You can feel the blush start to rise on your cheeks. God, you shouldn’t be this shy considering what just happened, but you are. “That I only used... my fingers.”</p><p>Her eyes lock on yours. “Shelby...”</p><p>“Not that I don’t want to,” you rush out. “Because—well, I think I—”</p><p><em>I want to, </em>you try to say.</p><p>Knowing what it feels like, you definitely want to. But Toni’s gaze is making you shy. The feeling of her hand still on your naked body. The way everything feels so good and so overwhelming at the same time.</p><p>“It’s just that it’s a bit much for now,” you ramble on. “So I hope you don’t...”</p><p>“Hey,” she says. “It’s cool. Really. You don’t have to explain. And you don’t...” She meets your eyes, voice faltering just a bit when she adds, “I mean, you don’t have to do that. Not at all.”</p><p>You nod slowly, tracing your hand over her abs. “Okay.”   </p><p>She’s still wearing her panties, which, now that you think about it, is a little bit unfair. Now that you think about it, you really should have taken them off of her when you touched her. You heat up slowly at the thought.</p><p>Your fingers drift lower and Toni’s breath catches.</p><p>It makes you feel just a bit smug yourself.</p><p>“Not at all, huh?”</p><p>You slide your fingers under the lacy fabric and between her legs. She’s still wet.</p><p>It’s a daring idea, really.</p><p>But—</p><p>“<em>Shelby.</em>”</p><p>“How about just a little bit?” you say, softly, bringing your fingers to your lips.</p><p>Toni groans, breathes out, “Fuck<em>, </em>are you trying to kill me?”</p><p>And suddenly you don’t feel all that shy anymore.</p><p>:::</p><p>It’s not until later—after you’ve put your clothes back on; after you’ve eaten more lychees and shared water from the bottle in the <em>Dawn of Eve </em>bag that Toni had dropped to the ground the moment you arrived; after she’s told you the name of the bright orange star in the sky that is actually a supergiant, apparently, and has drifted off to sleep right next to you—that you actually realize this was it.</p><p>You’ve lost your virginity.</p><p>It’s strange, the order of your thoughts; how you’ve always been taught to care more about the promise to your God, than about the physicality of it.</p><p>It’s strange, too, that, in a way, your mother was right. Not about it being a precious gift to keep safe, but that there’s nothing wrong or bad about sex.</p><p>Maybe one day, in a future you don’t want to think about yet, you will tell her. Maybe you’ll speak about how the phrasing of it feels wrong. How you’re sure some of the other girls—Leah or Nora maybe—will have better words for why it doesn’t feel like anything <em>lost</em>.</p><p>Why so much of it felt expansive, not reductive. Why so much of it felt like being listened to, like being seen. Like prayer, really.</p><p>You think about the angels; how they live for eternity, how some of them have six wings each; how once, when you were growing up, someone taught you that no one has to belong to anybody else if they don’t want to.  </p><p>It’s the last thing you think about before you fall asleep: how what happened today was not between you and the institution of your church, not between you and the belief that belongs to your parents, not even between you and any rules of society that dictate what counts or doesn’t count as loss.</p><p>It was between you and Toni, between you and those angels, between you and who you belong to; yourself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:</p><p>sex positivity, am I right? in all honestly, this chapter was both really fun and quite challening to write. I think, ultimately, I wanted to write this in a way that 1) does justice to the show and the characters and 2) would be the kind of thing that I wish I could have read when I was a teenager and going through it lol. I hope either of those things, if not both, worked out. </p><p>let me know if any things stood out in particular, I love hearing your feedback always.</p><p>also, next chapter is canon-divergent, because we're not touching that shark attack, only island girlfriends in love. I might make it two chapters, who knows.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:</p>
<p>Needless to say, but this is where we go canon-divergent. I’m not letting that shark attack happen. Also, the real otp in this fic is Shoni x healthy communication.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you wake, the sun has only just come up over the tree line.   </p>
<p>For a moment, you feel disoriented. Not just because you’re not on the beach, but because internally, everything seems just a bit tilted—that same feeling you used to get whenever you’d sleep over at other people’s places and you’d wake up not exactly knowing what to do next. There’s a strange sort of sharpness to your thoughts, now that the heat has lifted and the night has passed, and it’s a new day. Another morning. Time just rolling on.</p>
<p>Toni’s still fast asleep next to you. There’s more space between you now, and you don’t know if it’s because she rolled away from you in the night, or the other way around.</p>
<p>Either way, it makes you self-conscious.</p>
<p>Sitting up, you fumble a little with the cross around your neck and then you spend a good amount of time cleaning yourself up as much as you can; straightening your clothes, plucking twigs and leaves off your clothes and from your hair. It’s a tiny thread of control, something small and precise to focus on. The more your mind wakes up, the more your thoughts begin to take on shape and clarity.</p>
<p>
  <em>You’ve had sex.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s pushy and consistent, the implications of it wrapping themselves tighter around you with every breath.</p>
<p>You didn’t plan for this to happen, and you didn’t plan for this to happen here, and you certainly didn’t plan for this to happen with <em>her, </em>but it did—and while the sweetness of it lingers, the taste of <em>agency, </em>of freedom, of choosing to be with her like this—the aftermath is conflicting.</p>
<p>What is everyone going to think? What is Toni going to say when she wakes up? What if the whole thing was a fever dream and it won’t continue to feel like it did last night; like something important, like something to give into, like something that could be yours?</p>
<p>You’re so in your head that you would have missed Toni waking up, if it weren’t for her voice, soft and a little groggy, as she says, “Hey.”</p>
<p>She rolls onto her hip, then sits up and you hear yourself say, “You’re awake.”</p>
<p>“Barely,” Toni mumbles, “I’m a slow starter.”</p>
<p>She looks soft and sleepy, yawning as she fumbles a little with her clothes. You glance away, because the sight of her suddenly is too much. She says something you don’t really register, laughs at her own joke, and then—</p>
<p>“Hey, you doing okay?”</p>
<p>Her eyes take on that concerned quality. The same focused look she’s worn since the moment with Leah on the beach, the one that makes your chest clench and your stomach flutter at the same time, just because she’s looking at you so intently.</p>
<p>You force a smile, fumble the necklace, drop the necklace. “I’m real good.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay if you’re not, you know.” She sounds light about it, but just the fact that she brings it out there, right into the morning with you—that it happened, that she’s pretty much instantly aware you’re going through an aftermath of sorts. It makes you exhale, makes you shift uncomfortably, right as Toni adds, “If you’re a little iffy, I get it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, God, stop,” you mumble, feeling equal parts embarrassed and <em>too </em>understood. You drop your head to your knees, breaking all eye contact, trying to will the entire thing away. “Oh my God, stop, stop, stop, stop, <em>stop.</em>”</p>
<p>Toni chuckles lightly. “Okay, you just got into the tornado drill position. I’m just gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’re fully okay?”</p>
<p>You inhale deeply, pressing your fingers to your eyes. “I’m—” You glance over, Toni, patient and waiting, but with just a hint of uncertainty in her expression, despite her calm, her stillness. You owe her <em>something</em>, you think. “I’m sorry,” you say, voice going a bit hoarse with how much you have to try. “I guess I’m just... not ready to—to talk about it, just yet?”</p>
<p>It sounds like a question.</p>
<p>It <em>feels </em>like a question.</p>
<p>All night you were <em>ready</em>, and suddenly it’s like you’ve fallen behind. Like you’ve missed three steps on a path you didn’t know you were on, and now you’re not sure how to do any of this. How to wake up next to someone. How to be new, and if you even truly <em>feel </em>new or if that’s another thread of expectation from your past. How to rhyme any of this with the fact that you’re still here, still stranded on an island with no way out, and yet you let yourself be driven by what you wanted last night and—</p>
<p>“And not—” you hear yourself say, because it matters. Because you don’t like the way her eyes go dark when she thinks she’s responsible for making you feel bad, even if it’s only for a shaky, uncertain second. “—not because I didn’t...” The pause stretches, the implication like a spark of heat in your body, that little flare of fire you get from telling her the truth. “Because I did... <em>like it.</em>”</p>
<p>Toni’s lips twitch. “Shelby,” she says, easing you out of it. “It’s cool.”</p>
<p>She gives you a small smile, then rummages behind her for her socks. It’s a strangely normal thing to do. So much so that it throws you off a bit.</p>
<p>“Uh,” you say, fumbling self-consciously with your own sandals. “So, I was thinking, we should probably get our story straight about where we were last night.” She gives you that smile, just an inch or so off from teasing, and you instantly add, “Not that I’m ashamed. ‘Cause I am N-O-T<em> not</em>.”</p>
<p>You let out a nervous laugh and you hate that you sound like this. That you can’t stop yourself from doing all this weird, unrelaxed overthinking. Which, now that you <em>think</em> about it, is probably not at all how you’re supposed to be when you’ve just had sex with someone. Not if you want to play it cool. Not if you care about doing it right. Not if you actually want her to like you enough that she might want to do all of it again, but you’re stuck on a freakin’ island with seven other girls who all think you’re some Bible-thumping— </p>
<p>“Whatever you want to say, I’ll co-sign,” Toni says, soft and <em>nice</em>, and—</p>
<p>You feel like the whole thing is tilted on its sides.</p>
<p>Toni gets to her feet and you’re stunned into silence, shocked by how off it feels. </p>
<p>For days, you’ve been able to feel every single emotion radiating off her body like she’s permanently dialed up to you; whether in anger or in frustration or... or... <em>attraction. </em>But now it’s like she’s gone completely silent.</p>
<p>You watch her take some lychees off the tree. “Lord... you’re, like, beyond calm right now. If I’m bein’ honest, it’s a—it’s a little unnerving.”</p>
<p>“Why? Because normally my vibe’s going apeshit?” She smiles at you, like this is fine. Like this is <em>fun. </em>She even laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess I’m having an off day.”</p>
<p>You’re frozen in place, mind still going a million miles an hour trying to figure out what is going on exactly, how this seems like it’s <em>no </em>big deal at all to her, when Toni says, “C’mon, let’s grab a bunch of these and get back. I’m thinking we’re their only hope for a little sustenance.”</p>
<p>You blink.</p>
<p><em>Right</em>.</p>
<p>She doesn’t really give you a chance to say anything else.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>The walk back to the beach seems light and easy on her. She’s so relaxed about it that it drives you a little mad. Quick on her feet and generous with her soft smiles, and you can’t believe she’s like <em>this </em>when you’re totally unable to take even a single breath that’s deeper than surface level.</p>
<p>You’re used to her fire, her bite, even her indifference. Not whatever is going on with her right now.</p>
<p>It’s almost a relief to be back with the other girls, although you almost immediately out yourself by stumbling through the worst explanation for your absence, ever.</p>
<p>Toni saves you, thankfully. Says, “We got lost and, you know, thought it’d be safer to camp out than hike back in the dark,” and Dot nods like that makes sense.</p>
<p>Like it’d be crazy to suspect anything else.</p>
<p>Anything like—</p>
<p>The sweaty heat of Toni’s touch. Her palms on your back, your hips, between your legs. The taste of lychees mixed with salt. Every inhale and exhale shared between you.</p>
<p>You’re glad you’ve got the goat to busy yourself with, because you’re sure the memory of it is all over your face.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>She laughs and speaks like nothing’s happened and then she drifts away from the fire, from the food, until she’s suddenly out of reach.</p>
<p>You’re not sure if it’s intentional or not.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s got nothing to do with you. Maybe she just needs a minute to herself, the way you all do on this island. But still, the timing, and the context. As you watch her climb up to the bluff, just a dot of red against the wide open sky, fear starts to take a hold of you.</p>
<p>You’re so caught up on it that you barely register Fatin’s approach. </p>
<p>It’s distraction enough, though. She looks a little too hard at you when you play the dumb game with the <em>oracle, </em>but it makes you laugh, anyway. At least up until the point that Fatin says, “I mean, you know if you’re so worried about how she’s feeling, maybe you should go ask her yourself.”</p>
<p>You startle back a bit, shame working its way up your neck in a hot flush.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, God. </em>
</p>
<p>“Please,” Fatin says, “I know sexual tension when I see it.”</p>
<p>The way your body coils up, the way you suddenly feel small, is so familiar. So infused with the judgmental whip of your church, and you’re ready for it to slice through the air, even now, even after everything, there’s still a part of you uncertain and questioning, until—</p>
<p>“But don’t worry,” Fatin says.</p>
<p>She puts her finger to the corner of her mouth, mimes keeping quit, the closing of a lock, <em>my lips are sealed</em>. </p>
<p>And then she smiles at you.</p>
<p>It’s that, more than her promise to keep quiet, that softens the tension inside of you. The way Fatin looks at you almost like she’s a little bit proud. Like this doesn’t have to be as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. That if you want to know where you stand with someone, the thing to do is <em>talk to her already</em>.</p>
<p>And so you do.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>Toni turns, blinks up at you against the sunlight, smiles. “Hey.”</p>
<p>You sit down next to her. Climbing up here, you practiced all the right words in your head, but now you suddenly can’t remember any way to start. There’s a fluttery sort of feeling in your stomach. Nerves and something else, something softer, a hint of last night in your body that refuses to leave you alone.</p>
<p>Toni, for whatever reason, seems to be perfectly content with staying silent. With looking out over the endless expanse of blue in front of you.</p>
<p>“So, does this not matter to you?”</p>
<p>She glances over at you, voice gravelly. “What?”</p>
<p>You keep your gaze ahead. “You’re this... fiery, passionate person... And then last night happens, and you’re just so damn calm, I guess... I guess I just got to thinking that’s b—” Your voice falters, fear pushing up<em>. </em>“Because it didn’t matter to you.”</p>
<p>“Nah, Shelby.” Toni shifts next to you, her body relaxed in a way that almost makes you annoyed. She bites her bottom lip and looks at you. “It’s ‘cause I trust you.”   </p>
<p>Her eyes, so gorgeous in the sharp sunlight. The way she looks right at you as she says it, no real hesitation, just full speed ahead into... <em>whatever</em> this is. Scared of many things but not of this. Not anymore.</p>
<p>The fluttery feeling in your stomach intensifies. “What the hell did I do to earn that?”</p>
<p>Her mouth straightens out in something just a bit more serious. “You saved my life.”</p>
<p>It aches behind your ribs, seems such a world away—that thing with the pill and the fear and the fighting. The echo of the way she’d screamed at you, sitting besides Martha’s body in the sand. <em>I don’t matter. </em>How everything seems to have shifted. How you weren’t looking then, not really, not like this; and now it’s like you can’t see anything else. Don’t want to see anything else.</p>
<p>“You saved my life,” she says, and you’re thinking: <em>you’re wrong</em>. You’re thinking: <em>it’s the other way around. </em></p>
<p>This was supposed to be your hell, your punishment, your condemnation. And, instead, it feels like this.</p>
<p>But still—</p>
<p>Still, there’s a tiny part of you that—</p>
<p>“But what if it all blows up? What if—” You wave your hand. “What if we end up making each other frickin’ miserable, you know, what if <em>hurt </em>you. I’ve—” You have to say it. You have to tell her. “I’ve hurt people before. Very badly.”   </p>
<p>She’s quiet for a moment, just looking at you with her arms wrapped around her knees, a slight crease between her brows. Then she says, “What if our plane crashes? And what if we nosedive into the ocean, you know, and end up stranded, and what if we wind up lost and starving?”</p>
<p>Your lungs empty out slowly.</p>
<p>Toni meets your eyes. “All of that already happened. The worst has already fucking happened.” She won’t look away and you’re locked in her gaze. “I don’t think I’ve got it in me to get that scared about something that could be good.” </p>
<p>It’s like you can feel the words beat behind your own ribs, can feel them knock over the last of your fear, the last of your resistance.</p>
<p>You look at her. The small of her shoulders. Thin black strap of her bra slipped out from under her tank top. Her golden skin. Skin you had your hands and mouth and breath all over last night.</p>
<p>It’s almost instinctive, to reach out and brush your fingers against her ponytail before sliding your palm to her face.</p>
<p>Your thumb finds her cheekbone, and she leans into your touch.</p>
<p>It sets your whole chest on fire at once, how <em>soft </em>she feels, how she holds your gaze until you kiss her—and then, when you kiss her, how she melts into it.</p>
<p>Your lips are a little bit chapped and it’s not as smooth as you would like, but Toni’s hand slides to your neck, fingers right against your pulse.</p>
<p>She kisses you back like there was never any other answer to this.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>There’s a thing you realize, here.</p>
<p>With the sun shining down on you and the soft press of Toni’s mouth against yours, with the way you allow yourself to fall into it, even though anyone who would be looking up would be able to see you.</p>
<p>It feels like forgiveness.</p>
<p>It’s what you’ve been trying to identify in your chest all morning; this new, untethered feeling.</p>
<p>All this time, you have not died. You have not been struck down, not with snakes or with currents or with starvation. You have not been burned or drowned or gotten poisoned. There were so many ways to be punished, and God has chosen none of them.</p>
<p>Instead, you have allowed yourself the truth of this — how you <em>are </em>the girl you’ve been so afraid to see reflected back at you any time you looked in a mirror — and in response, you have been kept safe.</p>
<p>Which means, maybe, that you are loved after all. That sin is different from what you thought it was. That you are not alone.</p>
<p>Which means, maybe, that you can forgive yourself now.</p>
<p>Not for any evil. Not for eating the fruit of the tree or for losing your virginity. Not for risking hell or for poisoning your best friend. Those are only twisted versions of half-truths. You are <em>forgiven. </em>For your fear, for being scared. You are forgiven for not knowing how to grow up and get it right the first time around. No one gets it right, but you didn’t know. You didn’t know these are things no one really needs to be given forgiveness for.</p>
<p>And so, you are.</p>
<p>For this.</p>
<p>For what you were always allowed to do though, though no one told you: to tremble, to question, to try and fail, and try again. To be a seventeen year old girl, all twisted up in yourself. You are forgiven.</p>
<p>Toni kisses you, and you kiss back harder, kiss like you’ve always wanted to kiss girls—and you wish you could have felt this type of clarity when you were younger.</p>
<p>You wish you could speak to the girl you were a year ago and tell her all of this. That soon enough things would start to get mixed up for her. That all your collective ideas about what is right and wrong will become blurred; paradise and purgatory all tangled up in the space of a deserted island; heaven and hell territory you won’t know how to navigate.</p>
<p>That, for a while, this place at the end of the world will feel so far from God you have to go backwards and around to find your way.</p>
<p>That it’s worth it. That it’s not over yet. That you’re going to be here many times. Edges and vertigo; cliffs and learning how to let go.  </p>
<p>You want to tell her that you always thought the world was narrow and dark and set in stone, but it turns out, it’s not.</p>
<p>It’s wide open.</p>
<p>:::  </p>
<p>No one really seems to pick up on the fact that something’s changed.</p>
<p>No one, except for Fatin, who keeps her word and doesn’t say anything—only tortures you in small ways with the occasional teasing look and the <em>too obvious </em>way she practically forces you and Toni to sit next to each other by the fire.</p>
<p>Still, no one else really seems to notice anything, which makes you feel relieved and a little bit strange at the same time.</p>
<p>The reappearance of food into the daily schedule — the goat and the lychees — has distracted everyone from their set tasks for a day or two, and you and Toni haven’t done anything to draw specific attention to yourselves.</p>
<p>That is to say, she’ll give you these longer looks now that make your mind go fuzzy, and yes, maybe you did catch her gaze on you this morning when you were washing yourself in the waves clad only in your underwear and pink bra. But you haven’t been alone since the bluff, haven’t kissed or touched, and it’s weird; how it means that everyone still pretty much thinks you and Toni are not on good terms with each other, if not outright fighting.   </p>
<p>Which means you end up in situations like <em>this. </em></p>
<p>“Rachel, you really don’t have to—”</p>
<p>“It’s no big deal,” Rachel says, cutting Toni off effectively. “You can take my fire duty slot. We’ll just switch.”</p>
<p>Toni looks so conflicted and confused it’s almost funny. Hands shoved into the pockets of her shorts, looking between you and Rachel like she doesn’t quite know what to do. You bite your lip, trying to hide your smile.</p>
<p>You’re set to go on a water run, the first thing you’re scheduled to do together in three days, but clearly Rachel is trying to do both of you a favor.</p>
<p>Toni’s eyebrows are creased. “Seriously, we don’t have to switch. There’s the schedule to keep track of and—"</p>
<p>Rachel gives her a strange look. “Since when do you care about the schedule?”</p>
<p>“Nah,” Toni rushes. “I just mean—” She looks at you, panicked. “I mean, um, well Shelby and I know that part of the woods really well, so it’s fine if, if... just the two of us—”</p>
<p>You can feel your cheeks heat up and Toni’s eyes go slightly wide, like she didn’t mean to slip that part into the sentence, but <em>clearly </em>you’re not the only one who’s been thinking of this little excursion to the waterfall as a chance for some... privacy.</p>
<p>Not that you would really know what to do with it.</p>
<p>You’re a little nervous, thinking about it. Excited, but a little nervous. All these parts are new. With Andrew, you didn’t care much about the sequence of events. You didn’t care about dates or texts or being close. You let him run most of the timeline. But here, with Toni—</p>
<p>Well, first of all, there is no timeline.</p>
<p>Or if there is, you’ve pretty much done everything backwards. There hasn’t really been any timeframe for you to like each other in an easy, fun way. No chance to think about the small things; wanting to hold her hand, thinking up impressive things to say to her, getting nervous and excited about an opportunity to spend time alone together—though, with the way Rachel is looking at Toni now, it doesn’t seem you’ll get it after all. </p>
<p>“Last chance,” Rachel is saying, though she’s looking more confused by the minute.</p>
<p>Toni takes in a sharp breath. “Cool,” she says, then. “I’ll take fire duty.”</p>
<p>Her shoulders have lowered in defeat and you catch her eye, just after Rachel walks past her, taking the empty suitcase with her.</p>
<p>You offer a shy smile — the only thing you can think to do, really — and Toni’s cheeks redden just a tiny bit.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>“You know,” you tell Rachel, when you’re far enough away from camp. “It’s actually not so bad between us anymore.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Between, um—” You busy yourself with stepping carefully over the branches. “Between Toni and me. It’s, um, we... we’re good, I think.” </p>
<p>Rachel gives you a weird look. “Oh,” she says, then. “Oh, well, that’s your business.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” you breathe out, trying to sound light. “Just ‘cause you offered to switch with her, and, like, don’t get me wrong, I love doing this with you, of course.” Rachel’s frown deepens even more, and you’re <em>not </em>doing a good job at what you’re trying to say here at all, and Rachel never takes bullshit from anyone, but it’s too late to back off now. “But we, um, we talked. Toni and I.” That’s one way to put it<em>.</em> “And as the Bible says, <em>clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience</em>. So, you know.”</p>
<p>Rachel just stares at you. “Sorry, but what the hell are you trying to say here?”</p>
<p>“Colossians 3:12.”</p>
<p>Rachel looks like a deer caught in headlights. You let out a laugh, feeling your blush burn through your skin.</p>
<p>“I mean, nothing,” you rush out quickly. “I—it’s nothing. Just—are you feeling a little hot? A little lightheaded? That must be it.”</p>
<p>“Um, okay, well, let’s get you fucking hydrated,” Rachel says, eyes still wide, like she’s never wanted to be anywhere <em>less </em>than in this conversation right now. “We’re wasting time.”</p>
<p>It’s going to require some practice, you think. Talking about any of this.</p>
<p>A <em>lot </em>of practice. </p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>God works in mysterious ways, but this is almost too good to be true. Though, you instantly feel awful for even thinking of it as <em>good</em>.  </p>
<p>On your trip back from the waterfall, Rachel’s foot catches on a rock and she bruises her wrist badly—<em>really </em>badly, so much so that she can’t carry the suitcase the rest of the way back, and is repositioned to fire duty after all.</p>
<p>Toni almost trips over her own feet in her hurry to take Rachel’s place.   </p>
<p>You tell her about the conversation as you make your way through the trees, and Toni can’t stop laughing.</p>
<p>“Stop,” you say weakly. “I was just trying to fix it. I was trying to tell her we’re good, that she doesn’t have to offer herself up. That we can be left alone together.”</p>
<p>Toni, who’s walking ahead of you, turns to look over her shoulder, giving you one of those brief, confident smiles that makes your skin feel tight. “<em>Can </em>we?”</p>
<p>The flirty undertone of it flutters in your stomach. Still, you stammer out, “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it, I—”</p>
<p>Toni stops walking, turns fully to look at you.</p>
<p>“Shelby,” she says, and she’s smiling. She’s smiling like she hasn’t in days and that, too, works its way under your skin, hot and pleasant. “I’m fucking teasing you.”</p>
<p>You shove her shoulder half-heartedly, and Toni stumbles back, a little for show. But purely on instinct, before she moves completely out of your space, you catch her wrist and then you’re very caught between pushing her away and pulling her flush against you. It’s a moment of nervous suspension where you don’t know what to do before Toni makes the decision for you, and closes the gap, pressing her mouth to yours.</p>
<p>Her lips are warm and soft, a little hesitant, until you part them with your tongue, and then neither of you are really all that patient about it anymore. Her hand tightens on your waist as the kiss heats up. Your fingers brush against her neck and she makes a soft noise at the back of her throat that kills you a little bit in the <em>best </em>way.</p>
<p>When Toni pulls back, both of you are breathless.</p>
<p>“That okay?” she says. “I guess I shouldn’t have assumed, but—”</p>
<p>You kiss her again, eliminating the last of the space between you. And then you whisper, because you just can’t help it, “Been thinkin’ about that for days.”</p>
<p>Toni’s smile curls proudly. One of your arms is hooked around her neck, fingers still brushing the nape of her neck, and she leans into it. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>You nod, shy and short of breath and <em>into this; </em>into the way your other hand is fisted in her <em>Hopewell Lake Basketball </em>tank, into the way Toni is staring at you like everything else has fallen away.</p>
<p>You feel flushed with heat and all you want to do is kiss her again, but you also feel a little overwhelmed by the sudden privacy, the lingering worry about Rachel getting hurt and the fact that you’re supposed to be on a water run. With all these <em>new </em>things to navigate.</p>
<p>You’re good at playing roles.</p>
<p>You’re good at following scripts.</p>
<p>You’ve never dated anyone you’ve actually liked.</p>
<p>Unless—</p>
<p>“You okay?” That little crease again, right between Toni’s eyebrows. How she watches you and measures; how you watch her back and can’t hold back on your honesty.  </p>
<p>You stammer out the words. “Are we... I mean, are we, like, dating?”</p>
<p>Toni’s eyes go wide. “Oh, um.” She lets out a laugh. “What, you mean, like, movie nights and sharing milkshakes? Hate to break it to you but I don’t think this place has any—”</p>
<p>She stops talking when she sees your face.</p>
<p>“What?” she says, then, softer. “What is it?”</p>
<p>“I’m just...” You fumble with the fabric of her tank top. “Do you think it’ll be okay?”</p>
<p>Toni shifts her weight, creates just a bit more space between you. “What do you mean? I thought we talked about this.”</p>
<p>You flinch a little, embarrassed about your inexperience, your inability to articulate the sudden worry in your chest, annoyed that this <em>keeps </em>happening. That you need this much reassurance, that Toni’s calmness isn’t as easily internalized as you’d wished. </p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Toni says, before you can respond, still watching your face. “No, I just mean... I thought I was clear about how much I want this. How I’m not scared of it.”</p>
<p>You swallow. “But what about the other girls?”</p>
<p>“What about them?”</p>
<p>“Do you think they know? Do you think they know that we... that I...”</p>
<p><em>Like you, </em>you want to say. But somehow, between this, and Toni’s slightly flippant comment about dating, you don’t dare to.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Toni ends up reading it wrong. “Who cares?” she says. “Everyone knows <em>I’m </em>gay. I doubt they’ll care.”</p>
<p>The impact of it lands pretty hard.</p>
<p>You hadn’t even paused to consider <em>that</em>—that anything about this would have to come down to coming out, or talking about your sexuality, or establishing something you’re still very much coming to terms with.  </p>
<p>It makes your bottom lip tremble a little, and Toni’s eyes widen, like she knows she’s somehow accidentally said something that made it worse — and <em>God, </em>this is so much work already, you think. To keep trying to tell someone the full truth about how you’re feeling, to communicate in ways that are vulnerable and exposing, where it only feels like you are getting it more wrong with every sentence.</p>
<p>But the words come tumbling out, anyway, like they often do when your emotions are getting ahead of themselves. All your worries out there in the open. “But what if they’ll be mad about it?” you say. “What if it ruins the whole group dynamic? I mean, with Martha—she’s your best friend and what if... what if...”</p>
<p>“Shelby.”</p>
<p>“And what do we even tell them? If it’s not dating, or if it’s not dating to <em>you</em>, then what do I say? What if I keep getting it wrong, and—” </p>
<p>Toni’s fingers close around your wrist. “You’re not getting it wrong.” Her touch is steadying on the rhythm of your pulse. She looks at you. “You know we don’t have to figure everything out at once, right?”  </p>
<p>You stay quiet but there must be enough of a question in your expression because she shrugs. “I mean, we definitely have to talk about some of this. But—” Her eyes meet yours. “There’s so much we can’t control anyway. We don’t know how any of it is gonna turn out. But I meant it. I’m not scared.”</p>
<p>You can see that she’s not just saying it to make you feel better. She really means it. Still, your bottom lip is trembling and you can’t seem to get it to stop. </p>
<p>“Look,” Toni says, then. “I know you’re worried about this, and I promise we’re going to deal with everything. But right now, the only thing we have to think about is the next few minutes, yeah? We’re going to go to the waterfall. And we’re going to get collect some water. And it’s just you and me. That’s it. That’s all we have to do.”</p>
<p>You let out a shaky laugh. “Toni—”</p>
<p>“That’s really it,” she says. “It’s just one minute, and then the next, and then the next.”</p>
<p>She squeezes your hand and you take a breath, mostly uncertain, but then she does something sweet and leans in to press a shy, soft kiss to your cheekbone.</p>
<p>It’s feather-light, barely there, over before you have fully registered it. But it still loosens something inside your chest and Toni’s giving you that half smile that you like so much, and then she’s saying, again, “One minute, to the next, to the next.”</p>
<p>It sounds almost like a mantra, like it’s not the first time she’s said it—just the first time she’s said it out loud. To you.</p>
<p>You feel your lips slowly curl into a smile, feel some of your anxiety settle. The sun is warm and she’s right. You can think about it as much as you want, but right now, there’s only this, and whatever happens later will happen when it’s later.</p>
<p>You lean forward, a bit curious. “Where’d you learn that?” She bites her lip, and you say, “School?”</p>
<p>“My mom, actually.” Toni glances down. “Weirdly the only bit of anger management that actually kind of worked.”</p>
<p>You’re quiet for a moment. You want to ask more but only if she’s okay with you asking anything about it.</p>
<p>But before you can say anything, Toni looks up at you again. “I do want to, by the way,” she says. “Date you, I mean.” Her cheeks are flushed and the fluttery feeling behind your navel flares up. “I thought it was obvious, Shelby.” </p>
<p>You bite down on your bottom lip and then, because she’s so close and yet not close enough, you pull her in and kiss her again.</p>
<p>One minute, to the next, to the next.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>The sunlight glints on the water like sparkling gold.</p>
<p>With Rachel, it had been all about proficiency and time management, but Toni smirks at you when the two of you lower the suitcase to the surface, and there’s a second where you think you should have seen it coming but it still catches you off guard when she wildly splashes water up into your face.   </p>
<p>You let out a shriek at the cold of it. “Oh my God, Toni.”</p>
<p>She laughs. “What? Don’t you want to go swimming?”</p>
<p>You narrow your eyes at her, then arch an eyebrow. “What that all you got?”</p>
<p>It’s an echo of an old conversation, a teasing remnant of a fight from a hot day, from shelter-building contests and tension between you. Toni’s expression darkens in a way that’s intense and attractive. And then, quick as lightning, she splashes you again, and the suitcase lays forgotten.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>You lose your shirt fairly quickly.   </p>
<p>The sun feels hot on your bare skin but Toni’s eyes trailing a line from your neck to your navel feels hotter. It sends a little thrill through you, to notice the effect of Fatin’s bikini top seems to be having on Toni’s focus.</p>
<p>Your fingers linger on the button of your shorts. “If you’re gonna start a water fight, I should probably take off my shorts too, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Toni keeps her eyes on you. “Probably.”</p>
<p>You don’t do it, though. Instead you make your way up on one of the rocks, letting her come closer to you, almost like it’s a challenge. Both of you’ve got droplets of water on your clothes, your skin. The edge is right there, the water cold and deep below.  </p>
<p>“They’re gonna wonder why we are taking so long,” you say.</p>
<p>Toni makes a face. “Nah,” she says. “They don’t care. We got all afternoon.”</p>
<p>It sounds breezy, but you can feel the implication under the words. The fact that you’re alone. That the rest of the girls still have plenty of fresh water back at camp, at least to last them through the rest of the day. That you can fill these next few minutes however you want.</p>
<p>You take a step closer to her. “A lot of free time.”</p>
<p>Toni smirks. “And how do you propose we spend it?”</p>
<p>You smirk right back at her. “Many rounds of <em>Never Have I Ever</em>?”</p>
<p>Toni laughs. She’s right in front of you now. You can see the specks of different color in her eyes, can feel the heat of her skin.</p>
<p>“Could be fun,” you say easily, the threads of an idea coming together. You pull a little on her tank top, inching her closer to you.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” Toni counters, gladly leaning into your space.</p>
<p>“Never have I ever—” you start, digging your fingers into her hips. And she should really know better by now. Maybe she even does, if the way her eyes narrow slightly and then widen, like she’s catching on just a second too late, is any indication. “—pushed a girl off a rock.”</p>
<p>“<em>Shelby</em>!”</p>
<p>Toni’s voice cuts off into a yelp as she plummets towards the water, and you can’t do anything but laugh and jump down right after her.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>You swim and swim, and then you yank on Toni’s wrist, pull her in and kiss her.</p>
<p>Closer to the waterfall, the pool is shallow, the water only coming a little higher than your knees. Somehow along the way, you’ve lost your shorts and Toni’s pulled off her tank top the second it got soaked, so you’re both in considerably less clothing than when you arrived her.</p>
<p>The feeling of her wet skin under your palm is making your head all foggy.</p>
<p>You’re winding your arm around her neck before you can really stop yourself, ready to kiss her again. Toni laughs against your mouth, says, “Not even a little bit of space for Jesus?”</p>
<p>You slide your hand up her ribs and the chuckle dies in her throat. “Fuck, <em>okay</em>.”</p>
<p>Just like that, the air feels charged between you. With your fingers on the wet fabric of Toni’s sports bra, her breathing goes a little shallow—even more so when you bring your mouth to her neck and shyly cup her with your palm, as your press your lips to her skin.</p>
<p>Flashes of your night under the lychee tree press forward; the feeling of her bare skin, how she’d moan when you put your mouth on her nipple, how badly you want to feel her fingers digging into your back again.</p>
<p>“Is this—”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Toni says. “<em>Fuck</em>. Really good.”</p>
<p>It makes you grin. Makes you feel bolder. Your fingers hook under her bra strap. “Never have I ever...” you whisper into her skin, and you can feel the way she tenses from anticipation. “... gone skinny dippin’.”</p>
<p>You push back from her just enough to watch the flush on her face. And then you’re already moving to pull the flimsy strings of Fatin’s bikini loose, and Toni is just staring at you, wide-eyed, like she can’t believe this is actually happening.</p>
<p>The bikini top ends up on the rocks and you feel exposed and confident and trembling, all at the same time.</p>
<p>“Shelby...” Toni whispers.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>Her mouth connects with yours, hot and needy. All teeth and tongue and burning desire. She’s pulling her own bra up over her head before you can say anything and then her mouth is back on yours, panted breath between you as she draws back between kisses just long enough to say, “This is not how the game works.”</p>
<p>“Are you complaining?”</p>
<p>She laughs, sound mixing with the water rushing down behind her, and this—</p>
<p>This is what sets your body on fire; the way you can make her laugh, even through the haze of heat and the tension in your body.</p>
<p>“What if they come to check on us?” Toni says.</p>
<p>It sends a shiver through your body and she seems to notice, pulls you in closer against her, the feeling of your wet skin sliding together enough to make your breath stop short. You kiss her in the place of a response.</p>
<p>It doesn’t feel like a conscious decision, more a slowly building need that’s starting to rise in your body.</p>
<p>The way you can’t stop from wanting her <em>closer, closer</em>, no matter how tightly she’s already wrapped around you. The way you can feel her hips shift, can feel the fabric of her shorts rub against your bikini bottoms. The way you’re starting to want both of them off as quickly as possible.</p>
<p>Eventually, it happens.</p>
<p>Eventually, your back finds the flat surface of a rock and the final pieces of clothing end up with the rest—and it all feels so good, so natural, so safe. Feels like you can waste a whole afternoon together, however you want, kissing or touching or <em>anything.</em></p>
<p>Toni kisses you softly, like she cares so fucking much.</p>
<p>It pumps heat all through your body.</p>
<p>And then—</p>
<p>You think it, and the second you do, you can’t get it out of your head.</p>
<p>Over and over, the thought rolls around in your head, and Toni must notice, because she slows and looks at you, and her hand feels so good on your hip, her eyes so goddamn beautiful.</p>
<p>“What?” she says. “What is it?”</p>
<p>Your heart is racing fast. “Never have I ever, um—” Your voice falters, the word getting stuck on your lips. But you want to say it; you want to <em>do</em> it. It’s almost breathless when you add, “—gone down on a girl.”</p>
<p>Toni swallows visibly. Her voice completely hoarse as she says. “Is that—” It cracks. “I mean, um, would you—I mean, is that—”</p>
<p><em>What you want, </em>goes unsaid.</p>
<p>You nod. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Her skin feels so hot and flushed under your touch, even with the water. She’s blushing and it’s making you smile. You can’t help but love the little thrill that goes through your body.</p>
<p>“Would <em>you </em>want that?” you say, leaning into the delicious edge of control.</p>
<p>Toni bites down on her bottom lip, eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping up, like she’s trying not to think about it yet. Like she’s trying very much to stay on track even though, in her mind, you might already be on your knees and—</p>
<p>“Only if...” Her voice is rough. “Only if you want to,” she says. “I won’t mind if you don’t, if you—” You lower yourself into the shallow water and Toni’s hips jerk. “Fuck, fuck, <em>okay</em>.”</p>
<p>It feels a little bit like prayer, you think, when you press a shy kiss to Toni’s stomach and she shudders.</p>
<p>To give in, be free with your worship, let your heart drive you forward.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>You dry up on the rocks, using your discarded clothes as makeshift towels.</p>
<p>It’s a bit <em>too open </em>to stay naked for long, you think, but for now, for a little while at least, you feel like you’re allowed to enjoy the feeling of being completely — crazily — at peace just being here like this.</p>
<p>You run your hands through your hair, using your fingers to tame the curly mess it’s turned into. It doesn’t do much but you like the pressure of your own touch against your scalp, you like the glow of the sun on your bare skin, you like being visible to her like this.  </p>
<p>When you glance over, Toni is already looking at you, an expression on her face you can’t quite read.</p>
<p>“What?” you say, unable to keep a sudden tinge of self-consciousness out of your voice.</p>
<p>Toni leans on her elbow. “What are they like? Pageants.”</p>
<p>You laugh a little. “Why’re you thinkin’ about that?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t answer. She just looks at you, close enough that her fingers are brushing against your hip. Close enough that you can see every freckle on her nose, every tiny scratch on her skin.  </p>
<p>“It’s a show,” you hear yourself say. “A spectacle. It’s about beauty.”</p>
<p>Toni frowns. “But it’s fake.”</p>
<p>You glance away from her, quiet for a second. “I guess.”</p>
<p>“I just—” Toni goes on. “It’s just so crazy to me. How strict and phony and one-dimensional it seems.”</p>
<p>You feel a bit of annoyance flare in your stomach, a bit of defiance. “It can be empowering,” you say, staring back at her. “It can feel powerful to make yourself pretty. To make people look at you.”</p>
<p>Toni holds your eye contact and then says, “You don’t owe ‘em anything.”</p>
<p>“I know that,” you say, and it comes out a bit snappier than intended. “Look, you don’t have to lecture me on criticism of the beauty industry, okay? I’m not an idiot. But so what? Is it a crime to want to be pretty? To want people to think you’re pretty?”</p>
<p>Toni’s lips part and you can <em>feel </em>that she already knows, that she can hear the emotion under your words. That this is what it means to be close with someone; have them pick up on things before you’ve consciously put them out there.</p>
<p>Her finger runs over your hip, and you’re sure she doesn’t mean to have this effect on you, but you shiver anyway.</p>
<p>“I think you’re fucking pretty,” she says, then. “For the record. But you shouldn’t have to feel like that’s something to <em>earn. </em>Like it’s boxes to check off and only then you’re worthy of being looked at. That’s bullshit.”</p>
<p>Your bottom lip juts forward and Toni’s hand drifts up to your face, her thumb stroking across it. Something softens in her eyes. “I’m not criticizing you,” she says. “I’m just saying, I like seeing you like this. When you’re not...” She hesitates, then says it anyway. “Not hiding.”</p>
<p>Your exhale hits against her thumb, which is still resting lightly on your bottom lip, and your eyes meet with a little jolt of tension.</p>
<p>“Really?” you say, unable to stop yourself asking for the reassurance.  </p>
<p>Toni smiles, nods, says <em>Shelby</em> in that whispered way that drives you crazy.</p>
<p>Your lips close against her thumb, the briefest of kisses. She’s quick enough to kiss you for real, and you know you must still taste of her, because Toni lets out the softest, lightest noise into your mouth. When she pulls back, she runs her fingers over your lips again, tip of your tongue darting out to flick against her touch, before you can hold it back. Toni’s expression darkens and you blush, right as her index finger slips into your mouth.</p>
<p>Belatedly, you realize what she’s doing, but when you do, it sparks inside you like a hot wire.</p>
<p>“Can I?” she says, touching the wire of your flipper.</p>
<p>You hesitate for a long second, and then you nod.</p>
<p>Toni takes your flipper out and this is worse than being naked in the middle of an open forest, this is more exposed than you’ve been before.</p>
<p>She looks at you, just looks at you.</p>
<p>Your heart is heavy against your ribs, an insistent reminder of the power she holds, how she could hurt you if she wanted.</p>
<p>But instead, she looks at you like you’re worthy of being looked, like it’s no big deal at all, like, if anything, she’s happy to kiss you any which way—and then she leans in and does exactly that.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Leah picks up on it first, which makes sense because she’s Leah.</p>
<p>There are tiny things, you think, tiny things you can’t stop yourself from doing in the next few days.</p>
<p>Like the way you’re unable to stop yourself from smiling whenever Toni makes a stupid joke that really isn’t very funny. Like the way you’ve both started staying up very late, waiting at the campfire for everyone else to go to bed; the way you can’t stop yawning and shivering from exhaustion, but how everything is worth it if it means it’ll just be the two of you for a bit, just you and Toni, and the rush of the ocean, the sight of the moon. As though you might be able to hold off the morning from coming.</p>
<p>Tiny things that are irresistible. Like that time Toni steals your pink sweater and wears it all afternoon and you can’t stop blushing about it, and it’s the first time you catch Leah looking at you with a little bit of a frown on her face.</p>
<p>She doesn’t say anything, though, just lets it slide.</p>
<p>But one morning, when you wake up a little too close to Toni—not exactly pressed against her, but definitely with very little space between you—Leah hands you a bottle of water at the campfire with a bit of a smirk on her face, and you know she knows.  </p>
<p>Rachel also gets suspicious quick enough. Maybe something lingered from that conversation you had with her before she injured her hand, maybe she’s just more aware of other people than her single-minded defensive front lets on. She keeps throwing you these looks, keeps saying things to Toni that you can’t hear but that make Toni look like a deer caught in headlights.</p>
<p>It makes you a tiny bit nervous, knowing that Rachel won’t be afraid to call either of you out.</p>
<p>But that doesn’t happen either. </p>
<p>If anything, all Rachel does is roll her eyes and grin and give both of you a lot of her <em>fucking typical </em>attitude.</p>
<p>Fatin, of course, knows <em>something</em>. Something that’s only getting more and more confirmed every time Toni accidentally makes a too-obvious show of helping you out with whatever tasks you’ve got to do. Every time you smile at each other and it makes you blush. Every time you end up a little too much in each other’s space.</p>
<p>Fatin just keeps giving you these looks, keeps wiggling her eyebrows, keeps suggesting playing <em>truth or dare </em>with a wink in your direction that you know means trouble. But she keeps her word, doesn’t say anything.   </p>
<p>Nora, you think, truly doesn’t know.</p>
<p>But it turns out she just doesn’t <em>care</em>.</p>
<p>Because she’s the only person who outright says to you, “If you want me to change the schedule so you and Toni can be on permanent water duty together, let me know.” Giving you that <em>Nora smile </em>like she’s already way ahead of you and just helping you out by not making you ask for it. </p>
<p>Martha—</p>
<p>Martha is the one you worry about most. You’re not sure what she knows or suspects, if she suspects <em>anything</em>. Still, she’s the only one you’re afraid of actually hurting with this. She’s Toni’s best friend. She’s Toni’s <em>person. </em>And now you and Toni are...</p>
<p>Part of you also knows that Toni doesn’t like keeping secrets from Martha. You can feel it in the way she tenses every time you bring it up.</p>
<p>“You know,” you say to her, finally, after working up the courage to do so for three days. “If you want to, you should tell Martha.”</p>
<p>Toni blinks at you. “Tell her what?”</p>
<p>You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “This,” you say, waving your hand. “Us.”</p>
<p>Toni frowns and then her eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, are you serious?”</p>
<p>You nod, holding onto your nerve. “Yeah, I’m—I mean, um, like, maybe just... just start with Martha, yeah? Not tell everyone. But—” You look at her. “She cares about you. I know you want her to know.”</p>
<p>Toni’s smile is soft and sweet and you lean in to kiss it, to kiss your nerves away.</p>
<p>“Only if you want to, though,” you say, against her lips. “Like, only if you want to.”</p>
<p>For days, nothing really changes.</p>
<p>Martha doesn’t treat you any differently than usual. You almost start to think Toni hasn’t told her after all, even though you <em>know </em>she has. It makes you anxious, makes you unfocused and a little off emotionally, and you’re not sure what to do about it, how to fix this—how to keep Martha as your friend and Toni as... as...</p>
<p>And then Martha suddenly switches spots with Fatin to go on a food run with you.</p>
<p>Your heart shoots up in your throat as you make your way through the forest, and you’re suddenly so nervous, knowing that she <em>knows, </em>wishing you could just go ahead and tell her already; reassure her that this thing with Toni, that you’re not just messing around, that you’ll be careful with her heart because it means so much to you, that you’ve never felt this way, that—</p>
<p>Martha grabs your hand. “Shelby, you know I’m not mad, right?”</p>
<p>You end up crying.</p>
<p>You end up crying with fear and relief and love for her. You try to tell her, try to give her bits and pieces of it, to explain—how scared you’ve been, how confused and angry at your God, how conflicted. You try to tell her about the cliff in your mind and the island, how you thought it was hell, and maybe it still is, but how it’s also something sacred now, and when you say that Martha looks at you, really looks at you, and squeezes your hand tighter like she gets that. And then you tell her those things you wished to say; about Toni and how you’ll try not to mess it up, and how you’re so glad she knows, <em>really Martha, you don’t even</em>—</p>
<p>“Is it—” You choke a little on the tears still in your throat. “Is it weird for you?”</p>
<p>Martha gives you a half smile. “Yeah, a little.”</p>
<p>You nod, feel a pang of guilt.</p>
<p>But then Martha’s smile turns full. “But Toni really likes you. I can tell. And I like you, too. So don’t worry.”</p>
<p>It sounds so simple.</p>
<p>And maybe, maybe it is simple.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Dot doesn’t figure it out.</p>
<p>She’s too busy keeping all of you alive.</p>
<p>And so, eventually, something’s gotta give.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>“Bet you,” Toni says, “A million fuckin’ lychees that I can make it.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” you tease. “I don’t know. You’ve got to have really good aim to be able to do it blind.”</p>
<p>“A million lychees.”</p>
<p>“You’ll have to climb up and get all of them yourself.”</p>
<p>Toni grins. “Nah, <em>you </em>will have to climb up and get all of them yourself because I’m gonna make the shot.”</p>
<p>You’re all sitting around the campfire. Toni’s tied a <em>Dawn of Eve </em>bag to a high piece of wood sticking out of the shelter as a makeshift basket, and has been throwing lychees at it from absurd distances for at least half an hour, now claiming she can make the shot with her eyes closed.</p>
<p>Your chest feels warm and fluttery, the way you’re all provoking her a little, the way Rachel keeps saying she could <em>do a better job with her bad hand</em>, the way Fatin dared to lean in close and whisper <em>is this foreplay for you weirdos?, </em>making you actually gasp out loud.</p>
<p>“Are you watching?” Toni says, right at you.</p>
<p>You roll your eyes. “I’m telling you, you won’t be able to—”</p>
<p>The lychee flies right over the campfire, straight into the bag.</p>
<p>Your mouth drops open.</p>
<p>Toni just smirks wider, then holds out a lychee.</p>
<p>“Here,” she says. “I’ll be kind. <em>Two million lychees </em>if you can make the counter-shot.”</p>
<p>“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen,” Rachel says, but she’s grinning.</p>
<p>You snatch the lychee out of her hand. “Fine.”</p>
<p>With as much concentration as you can muster, you aim the shot, pull your arm back—</p>
<p>It lands right in the fire.</p>
<p>Toni laughs so hard she nearly loses her breath, and before you can stop it, you hear yourself say, “Okay, it’s not <em>that </em>funny, babe. Not all of us are frickin’ WNBA players.”</p>
<p>Everyone falls silent.</p>
<p>And then Dot says, “<em>Babe</em>?”</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>In the end, everyone knows.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>You’re on the bluff, on a particularly hot evening, lying on your backs in the sandy grass, when Toni brings up your piercing.</p>
<p>She traces the tip of her finger over your ear, pausing on the hard silver. It makes you sensitive and Toni smiles like she knows it.</p>
<p>“I like this,” she says.</p>
<p>She leans in closer to study it, her breath hitting your ear a little hotter than you were ready for.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” you say, but it sounds like a breathy whisper.</p>
<p>She nods, pressing a kiss to your ear. “I like it a lot.”</p>
<p>You sigh, closing your eyes, leaning a bit more into her, wanting the pressure of her body, just to feel it. Your desire soft and comfortable, not necessarily something to react to just yet.   </p>
<p>She brings her mouth to your shoulder, her fingers resting easy on your stomach, just under the fabric of Fatin’s borrowed t-shirt.</p>
<p>You still when they touch your bellybutton piercing.</p>
<p>“Where’d you get this?” she says, and there’s a tiny hint of awe under it. “Been meaning to ask for a while.”</p>
<p>You lean up a bit to kiss her jaw. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Just doesn’t feel like something your parents would say yes to.”</p>
<p>You let out a laugh. “Oh, they didn’t.”</p>
<p>Toni looks at you, a spark in her eyes. “Did you break their rules?”</p>
<p>“Kinda,” you say, “I mean, it was Becca’s idea but—” </p>
<p>You don’t expect it.</p>
<p>The way your throat closes off so suddenly, the moment her name passes your lips. Toni looks at you carefully, studies you, quiet and patient. The panic rises but she doesn’t push, just waits, and so it slowly falls again. You bite down on your bottom lip, feeling embarrassed over the tears that threaten to well up in your eyes.</p>
<p>But Toni just studies you, quiet and patient, and then, she asks, gently, “Who’s Becca?”</p>
<p>You take a breath, shaky and a little painful. “Someone...” Another breath. It’s almost impossible to get the words out, but you try, anyway. “She’s someone I hurt. Real bad.”</p>
<p>You watch her reaction, wait for her to pull back, for her expression to shift into anger or disgust. But it doesn’t happen. She’s just quiet.</p>
<p>So, you hear yourself say, “She’s also my best friend.”</p>
<p>And then you tell her.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>After, Toni holds you really close.</p>
<p>She holds you like you wish someone had held you in that dressing room, when a girl you barely knew told you your best friend took her own life. She holds you like you wish someone had held you after that kiss, after the fall-out, after every single time your dad had looked at you like you couldn’t possibly be his child. She holds you like it’s the only thing to do in this moment, and it is.</p>
<p>There are long ways to go from here, still.</p>
<p>Other moments where you will have to figure out how to talk to each other about things that hurt. It is not the first time and it is not the last time, and it’s not the end of the story. But right now, Toni wraps herself around you like she can’t possibly want to be any closer to you, and you feel it everywhere.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>She brushes a kiss against the silver cross against your neck; hates the institution of your religion, but loves you. Loves what you choose to hold in your own hands and make beautiful.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>There’s a thing you will learn to say to her, a thing you will learn to say to yourself.</p>
<p>It’s a good thing to care about something so much that it could hurt you. A good thing to feel like your heart is on the line from loving someone this wildly.</p>
<p><em>You can trust me, </em>you will say. <em>You can trust me with this. </em></p>
<p>A thing you will learn to say to her. A thing you will learn to say to yourself.</p>
<p>
  <em>I could hurt you, but I won’t. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:</p>
<p>It’s done. My slightly too-personal character study that turned out to be more emotionally taxing to write than I had anticipated. These are heavy themes and I’m certainly no expert on any of the religious elements. But I am quite familiar with panic and fear and a mind that can get a little dark. It was good to dive into this complex, flawed and beautiful character and I can’t wait to see what season two will bring us. </p>
<p>I hope this final chapter lived up to expectations. I might at some point in the future write an epilogue, but for now, I want to leave this behind and focus on the chaos that is my actor au haha. Hope to see you there :) xx</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:</p>
<p>How was that? I hope it didn't disappoint! Let me know if there were any lines or sections in particular that stood out. I'm always trying to improve my writing on a sentence/imagery level so any input helps! Alternatively, if you just want to come yell at me about these characters, hit me up on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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